University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


VALUABLE  WORKS 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &BROTHERS 
No.  82  CLIFF-STREET,  NEW-YORK. 


The  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  By  Edward  Gibbon,  Esq.  Complete  in  4  vols.  8vo. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings. 

The  History  of  Modern  Europe  :  with  a  View  of 
the  Progress  of  Society,  from  the  Rise  of  the  Modern  Kingdoms 
to  the  Peace  of  Paris,  in  1763.  By  William  Russel,  LL.D. :  and 
a  Continuation  of  the  History  to  the  present  Time,  by  William 
Jones,  Esq.  With  Annotations  by  an  American.  In  3  vols.  8va 
With  Engravings  &c. 

The  Historical  Works  of  William  Robertson,  D.D. 

in  3  vols.  8vo.     With  Maps,  Engravings,  &c. 

The  History  of  the  Discovery  and  Settlement  of 
America.  By  William  Robertson,  D.D.  With  an  Account  of  his 
Life  and  Writings.  To  which  are  added,  Questions  for  the  Ex- 
amination of  Students.  By  John  Frost,  A.M.  In  one  volume, 
8vo.  With  a  Portrait  and  Engravings. 

The  History  of  the  Reign  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V. ; 
with  a  View  of  the  Progress  of  Society  in  Europe,  from  the  Sub- 
version of  the  Roman  Empire  to  the  Beginning  of  the  Sixteenth 
Century.  By  William  Robertson,  D.D.  To  which  are  added, 
Questions  for  the  Examination  of  Students.  By  John  Frost, 
A.M.  In  one  volume,  8vo.  With  Engravings. 

The  History  of  Scotland,  during  the  Reigns  of  Queen 
Mary  and  of  King  James  VI.,  till  his  Accession  to  the  Crown  of 
England.  With  a  Review  of  the  Scottish  History  previous  to  that 
Period.  Including  the  History  of  India. 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress.     With  a  Life  of  Bunyan,  by 

Robert  Sou  they,  LL.D.  New  and  beautiful  Edition,  splendidly 
illustrated  with  fifty  Engravings  by  Adams,  and  elegantly  bound.. 
In  one  volume,  12mo. 

Rollin. — The  Ancient  History  of  the  Egyptians,  Car- 
thaginians, Assyrians,  Babylonians,  Medes  and  Persians,  Grecians 
and  Macedonians ;  including  the  History  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences 
of  the  Ancients.  By  Charles  Rollin.  With  a  Life  of  the  Aulhor, 
by  James  Bell.  First  complete  American  Edition.  In  2  vols.  8m 
Embellished  with  nine  Engravings,  including  three  Maps. 


2  Valuable  Works  Published  by 

View  of  the  State  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages. 
By  Henry  Hallam.  From  the  Sixth  London  Edition.  Complete 
in  one  volume,  8vo. 

The  Dramatic  Works  and  Poems  of  William  Shak- 

Kpssare.  With  Notes,  original  and  selected,  and  Introductory  Re 
marks  to  each  Play,  by  Samuel  Weller  Singer,  F.S.A.,  and  a 
Life  of  the  Poet,  by  Charles  Simmons,  D.D.  Complete  in  one 
volume,  8vo.  With  numerous  Engravings. 

The  Dramatic  Works  of  William  Shakspeare,  with  the 
Corrections  and  Illustrations  of  Dr.  Johnson,  G.  Stet-.vens,  and 
others.  Revised  by  Isaac  Reed,  Esq.  In  6  vols.  crown  8vo.  With 
a  Portrait  and  other  Engravings. 

Prideaux's  Connexions  ;  or,  the  Old  and  New  Tes- 
taments connected,  in  the  History. of  the  Jews  and  neighbouring 
Nations;  from  the  Declension  of  the  Kingdoms  of  Israel  and  Ju- 
dah  to  the  Time  of  Christ.  By  Humphrey  Prideaux,  D.D.,  Dean 
of  Norwich.  New  Edition.  To  which  is" prefixed  the  Life  of  the 
Author,  containing  some  Letters  which  he  wrote  in  Defence  and 
Illustration  of  certain  Parts  of  his  Connexions.  In  2  vols.  8vo. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings. 

Plutarch's  Lives.  Translated  from  the  original  Greek, 
with  Notes,  critical  and  historical,  and  a  Life  of  Plutarch.  By 
John  Langhorne,  D.D.,  and  William  Langhorne,  A.M.  A  new 
Edition,  carefully  revised  and  corrected.  In  one  volume,  8vo. 
With  Plates. 

The  same  Work  in  4  elegant  12mo.  volumes,  large  type 

Addison's  Works.  New  and  splendid  Edition.  In 
press. 

The  Spectator.    New  and  splendid  Edition.     In  press. 

The  Works  of  Henry  Mackenzie,  Esq.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  12mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

The  complete  Works  of  Edmund  Burke.  With  a  Me 
moir.  In  3  vols.  8vo.  With  a  Portrait. 

Sermons  of  the  Rev.  James  Saurin,  late  Pastor  of  the 
French  Church  at  the  Hague.  From  the  French,  by  the  Rev.  Rob- 
ert Robinson,  Rev.  Henry  Hunter,  D.D.,  and  Rev.  Joseph  Shut- 
cliffe,  A.M.  A  new  Edition,  with  additional  Sermons.  Revised 
and  corrected  by  the  Rev.  Samuel  Burder,  A.M.  With  a  Likeness 
of  the  Author,  and  a  general  Index.  From  the  last  London  Edi- 
tion. With  a  Preface,  by  the  Rev.  J.  P.  K.  Henshaw,  D.D.  In 
2  vols.  8vo. 

The  Works  of  John  Dryden,  in  Verse  and  Prose. 
With  a  Life,  by  the  Rev.  John  Mitford.  In  2  vols.  8vo.  With  a 
Portrait 


ttarpet  <f  Brotneis.  3 

The  Works  of  Hannah  More.  In  7  vols.  12mo.  Il- 
lustrations to  each  volume. 

The  same  Work,  in  2  vols.  royal  8vo.,  with  Illustrations. 
Also  an  Edition  in  two  volumes,  royal  8vo.     With  a 

Portrait. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  and  Correspondence  of  Mrs 
Hannah  More.  By  William  Roberts,  Esq.  With  a  Portrait. 

Midwifery  Illustrated.  By  J.  P.  Maygrier,  M.D 
Translated  from  the  French,  with  Notes.  By  A.  Sidney  Doan* 
A.M.,  M.D.  With  82  Plates. 

The  Study  of  Medicine.  By  John  Mason  Good,  M.D  - 
F.R.S.  Improved  from  the  Author's  Manuscripts,  and  by  Refe* 
ence  to  the  latest  Advances  in  Physiology,  Pathology,  and  Pra» 
tice.  By  Samuel  Cooper,  M.D.  With  Notes,  by  A.  Sidney  Doanfr 
A.M.,  M.D.  To  which  is  prefixed,  a  Sketch  of  the  History  of  Mea 
icine,  from  its  Origin  to  the  Commencement  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  By  J.  Bostock,  M.D.,  F.R.S.  In  2  vols.  8vo. 

A  Treatise  on  Topographical  Anatomy  ;  or,  the  Anat- 
omy of  the  Regions  of  the  Human  Body,  considered  in  its  Rela 
tions  with  Surf«ry  and  operative  Medicine.  With  an  Atlas  of 
twelve  Plates.  By  Ph.  Fred.  Blandin,  Professor  of  Anatomy  and 
Operative  Medicine,  etc.  Translated  from  the  French,  by  A.  Sid- 
ney Doane,  A.M.,  M.D.  8vo.  With  additional  Matter  and  Plates 

Surgery  Illustrated.  Compiled  from  the  Works  of  Cub- 
ler,  Hind,  Velpeau,  and  Blasius.  By  A.  Sidney  Doane,  A.M.,  M.D. 
With  52  Plates. 

A  Manual  of  Descriptive  Anatomy.     By  J.  L.  Bayle. 

Translated  from  the  sixth  French  Edition,  by  A.  Sidney  Doane, 
A.M.,  M.D.     18mo. 

Lexicon  Medicum ;  or,  Medical  Dictionary.  By  R. 
Hooper,  M.D.  With  Additions  from  American  Authors,  by  Sam- 
uel A  kerly,  M.D.  8vo. 

A  Dictionary  of  Practical  Surgery.  By  S.  Cooper, 
M.D.  With  numerous  Notes  and  Additions,  embracing  all  tho 
principal  American  Improvements.  By  D.  M.  Reese,  M.D.  8vo. 

A  Treatise  on  Epidemic  Cholera,  as  observed  in  the 

Duane-street  Cholera  Hospital,  New-York,  during  its  Prevalence 
there  in  1834.    By  Floyd  T.  Ferris.     8vo.     With  Plates. 

A  History  of  the  Church,  from  the  earliest  Ages  to  the 
Reformation.  By  the  Rev.  George  Waddington,  M.A.  8vo. 

English  Synonymes.  With  copious  Illustrations  and 
Explanations,  drawn  from  the  best  Writers.  By  George  Crabb, 
M.A,  8vo. 


4  Valuable  Work*  Published  by 

Letters  and  Journals  of  Lord  Byron.  With  Notices  of 
his  Life.  By  Thomas  Moore,  Esq.  In2vols.8vo.  With  a  Portrait. 

The  Works  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Hall,  A.M.  With  a 
brief  Memoir  of  his  Life,  by  Dr.  Gregory,  and  Observations  on  his 
Character  as  a  Preacher,  by  the  Rev.  John  Poster.  Edited  by 
Olinthus  Gregory,  LL.D.  In  2  vols.  8vo.  With  a  Portrait.  _  . 

The  Fairy  Book.  Illustrated  with  81  woodcuts  by 
Adams.  16mo. 

Voyage  of  the  United  States  Frigate  Potomac,  undei 
the  Command  of  Com.  John  Downes,  during  the  Circumnaviga 
tion  of  the  Globe,  in  the  years  1831,  1832,  1833,  and  1834;  inclu 
ding  a  particular  Account  of  the  Engagement  at  Quallah  Battoo, 
on  the  Coast  of  Sumatra ;  with  all  the  official  Documents  relating 
to  the  same.  By  J.  N.  Reynolds.  8vo,  Illustrated  with  ten  Steel 
Engravings. 

The  Percy  Anecdotes.  Revised  Edition.  To  which 
is  added,  a  valuable  Collection  of  American  Anecdotes,  original  and 
selected.  8vo.  With  Portraits. 

The  Book  of  Nature.  By  John  Mason  Good,  M.D., 
F.R.S.  To  which  is  now  prefixed  a  Sketch  of  the  Author's 
Life.  8vo. 

Essays  on  the  Principles  of  Morality,  and  on  the  Pri- 
vate and  Political  Rights  and  Obligations  of  Mankind.  By  Jonathan 
Dymond.  With  a  Preface  by  the  Rev.  George  Bush,  M.A.  8vo. 

A  Dictionary  of  the  Holy  Bible.  Containing  an  His- 
torical Account  of  the  Persons  ;  a  Geographical  Account  of  Places  ; 
a  Literal,  Critical,  and  Systematic  Description  of  other  .Objects, 
whether  Natural,  Artificial,  Civil,  Religious,  or  Military  ;  and  an 
Explanation  of  the  Appellative  Terms  mentioned  in  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments  By  the  Rev.  John  Brown,  of  Haddington. 
With  a  Life  of  the  Author,  and  an  Essay  on  the  Evidences  of 
Christianity.  8vo. 

The  Life  and  Surprising  Adventures  of  Robinson  Cru- 
soe, of  York,  Mariner.    With  a  Biographical  Account  of  De  Foe. 
'•    Illustrated  with  fifty  characteristic  Engravings  by  Adams.     12mo. 

Poems  by  William  Cullen  Bryant.  New  Edition 
enlarged.  12mo.  With  a  Vignette. 

The  same  Work,  fancy  muslin,  gilt  edges. 
The  same  Work,  bound  in  silk,  gilt  edges. 

Sallust's  Jugurthine  War  and  Conspiracy  of  Catiline, 
with  an  English  Commentary,  and  Geographical  and  Historical 
Indexes.  By  Charles  Anthon,  LL.D,  Sixth  Edition,  corrected 
and  enlarged  12mo.  With  a  Portrait. 


Harper  <f  Brothers.  6 

Select  Orations  of  Cicero,  with  an  English  Commen- 
tary, and  Historical,  Geographical,  and  Legal  Indexes.  By 
Charles  Anthon,  LL.D.,  &e.  12mo. 

A  Life  of  George  Washington.  In  Latin  Prose.  By 
Francis  Glass,  A.M.,  of  Ohio.  Edited  by  J.  N.  Reynolds.  12mo. 
With  a  Portrait 

Initia  Latina,  or  the  Rudiments  of  the  Latin  Tongue.  Il- 
lustrated by  Progressive  Exercises.  By  Charles  H.  Lyon.  12mo. 

Miniature  Lexicon  of  the  English  Language.  By 
Lyman  Cobb. 

A  Year  in  Spain.     By   a   Young  American.     In   3 

vols.  12mo.     With  Vignette  Embellishments. 

Spain  Revisited.    By  the  Author  of  "  A  Year  in  Spain." 

In  2  vols.  12mo.     With  Engravings. 

The  American  in  England.      By  the  Author  of  "A 

Year  in  Spain."    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

Polynesian  Researches,  during  a  Residence  of  nearly 
Eight  Years  in  the  Society  and  Sandwich  Islands.  By  Wil- 
liam Ellis.  In  4  vols.  12mo.  With  Maps,  &c. 

Travels  and  Researches  iia  Caffraria  ;  describing  the 

Character,  Customs,  and  Moral  Condition  of  the  Tribes  inhabit- 
ing that  Portion  of  Southern  Africa.  By  Stephen  Kay.  12mo, 
With  Maps,  &c. 

England  and  the  English.    By  E.  L.  Bulwer,  Esq.,  M.P. 

In  2  vols.  12mo. 

Evidence  of  the  Truth  of  the  Christian  Religion, 
derived  from  the  literal  Fulfilment  of  Prophecy.  By  the  Rev. 
Alexander  Keith.  12mo. 

The  Letters  of  the  British  Spy.  By  William  Wirt, 
Esq.  To  which  is  prefixed,  a  Biographical  Sketch  of  the  Au 
thor.  12mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

Directions  for  Invigorating  and  Prolonging  Life ;  or, 
the  Invalid's  Oracle.  By  William  Kitchiner,  M  D.  Improved 
by  T.  S.  Barrett,  M.D.  .  12mo. 

The  Cook's  Oracle  and  Housekeeper's  Manual.  Cork 
taining  Receipts  for  Cookery,  and  Directions  for  Carving.  With 
a  Complete  System  of  Cookery  for  Catholic  Families.  By  Wil 
liam  Kitchiner,  M.D.  12mo. 

The  Plays  of  Philip  Massinger.     In.  3  vols.  18mo 

With  a  Portrait. 

1* 


6  Valuable  Works  Published  by 

The   Dramatic  Works  of  John   Ford.     With   Notes 

Critical  and  Explanatory.    In  2  vols.  18mo. 

Wonderful    Characters  ;    Comprising    Memoirs    and 

Anecdotes  of  the  most  Remarkable  Persons  of  every  Age  and 
.Nation.  By  Henry  Wilson.  8vo.  With  Engravings. 

Paris  and  the  Parisians  in  1835.      By  Frances  Trol- 

lope.    8vo.    With  Engravings. 

A.  Narrative  of  Four  Voyages  to  the  South  Sea,  North 

and  South  Pacific  Ocean,  Chinese  Sea,  Ethioprc  and  Southern 
Atlantic  Ocean,  and  Antarctic  Ocean.  From  the  year  1822  to 
1831.  Comprising  an  Account  of  some  valuable  Discoveries,  in- 
cluding the  Massacre  Islands,  where  thirteen  of  the  Author's 
Crew  were  massacred  and  eaten  by  Cannibals.  By  Captain  Ben- 
jamin Morrell,  Jun.  In  one  volume,  8vo. 

Narrative  of  a  Voyage  to  the  South  Seas,  in  1 829- 1831. 

By  Abby  Jane  Morrell,  who  accompanied  her  husband,  Captain 
Benjamin  Morrell,  Jun.,  of  the  Schooner  Antarctic.  12mo. 

Traits  of  the  Tea-Party;  being  a  Memoir  of  George  R. 
T.  Hewes,  one  of  the  Last  of  its  Survivers.  With  a  History  of 
that  Transaction  ;  Reminiscences  of  the  Massacre,  and  the  Siege, 
and  other  Stories  of  old  Times.  By  a  Bostonian.  18mo.  With 
a  Portrait. 

An  Elementary  Treatise  on  Mechanics.     Translated 

from  the  French  of  M.  Boucharlat.  With  Additions  and  Emen 
dations,  designed  to  adapt  it  to  the  use  of  the  Cadets  of  the  U.  S. 
Military  Academy.  By  Edward  H.  Courtenay.  8vo. 

The  Life  of  John  Jay  :  with  Selections  from  his  Cor- 
respondence and  Miscellaneous  Papers.  By  his  Son,  William 
Jay.  In  2  vols.  8vo  With  a  Portrait. 

Annals  of  Tryon  County ;  or,  the  Border  Warfare  of 
New-York,  during  the  Revolution.  By  W.  W.  Campbell.  8vo. 

1  Narrative  of  Events  connected  with  the  Rise  and 

Progress  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  Virginia.  To 
which  is  added  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Journals  of  the  Con- 
ventions in  Virginia  from  the  Commencement  to  the  present  Time. 
By  Francis  L.  Hawkes.  8vo. 

A  Memoir  of  the  Life  of  William  Livingston,  Member 

of  Congress  in  1774,  1775,  and  1776;  Delegate  to  the  Federal 
Convention  in  1787,  and  Governor  of  the  State  of  New-Jersey 
from  1776  to  1790.  With  Extracts  from  his  Correspondence,  and 
Notices  of  various  Members  of  his  Family.  By  Theodore  Sedg- 
•wick,  Jun.  8vo.  With  a  Portrait. 

England  and  America.     A  Comparison  of  the  Social 

and  Politieal  Stale  of  both  Natior.3.    8^0. 


Harper  Q  Brother!.  T 

The  Writings  of  Robert  C.  Sands,  in  Prose  and  Verse. 
With  a  Memoir  of  the  Author.  In  2  vols.  8vo.  With  a  Por- 
trait. 

Narrative  of  an  Expedition  through  the  Upper  Missis- 
sippi to  Itasca  Lake,  the  actual  Source  of  this  River  ;  embracing 
an  Exploratory  Trip  through  the  St.  Croix  and  Burntwood  (or 
Brul6)  Rivers.  By  Henry  Schoolcraft.  8vo.  With  Maps. 

Sketches  of  Turkey  in  1831  and  1832.  By  an  Ameri- 
can. 8vo.  With  Engravings. 

Letters  from  the  ^Egean.      By  James  Emerson,  Esq. 

8vo. 

Records  of  my   Life.     By  John   Taylor,   Author  of 

"  Monsieur  Tonson."    8vo. 

The  History  of  the  American  Theatre.     By  William 

Dunlap.     8vo. 

Memoirs  of  the  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  (Madame  Junot.) 
8vo.  With  a  Portrait. 

Memoirs  of  Lucien  Bonaparte,  (Prince  of  Canino.) 
12mo. 

The  Life  and  Remains  of  Edward  Daniel  Clarke.     By 

the  Rev.  William  Otter,  A.M.,  F.L.S.     8vo. 

Visits  and  Sketches  at  Home  and  Abroad.  With  Tales 
and  Miscellanies  now  first  collected,  and  a  new  Edition  of  the 
"  Diary  of  an  Ennuy6e."  By  Mrs.  Jameson.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 

Public  and  Private  Economy.  By  Theodore  Sedg- 
wick.  Part  First.  12mo. 

The  History  of  Virgil  A.  Stewart,  and  his  Adventures 

in  Capturing  and  Exposing  the  Great  "  Western  Land  Pirate" 
and  his  Gang,  in  Connexion  with  the  Evidence ;  also  of  the  Trials 
Confessions,  and  Execution  of  a  number  of  Murrell's  Associates  io 
the  State  of  Mississippi  during  the  Summer  of  1835,  and  the  Execu 
tion  of  five  Professional  Gamblers  by  the  Citizens  of  Vicksburgh 
on  the  6th  July,  1835.  Compiled  by  H.  R.  Howard.  In  one  vol 
ume,  12mo. 

Slavery  in  the  United  States.  By  James  K.  Paulding 
In  one  volume,  18mo. 

Letters,  Conversations,  and  Recollections  of  the  lat 
S.  T.  Coleridge.  In  one  volume,  12mo. 

Specimens  of  the  Table-Talk  of  the  late  Samuel  Tay 
lor  Coleridge.  In  one  volume,  12mo. 


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Protestant  Jesuitism.      By  a  Protestant.    In  one  vol 

ume,  12mo. 

Four  Years  in  Great  Britain.  By  Calvin  Colton.  In 
one  volume,  12mo. 

Thoughts  on  the  Religious  State  of  the  Country  :  with 
Reasons  for  preferring  Episcopacy.  By  the  Rev.  Calvin  Colton. 
In  one  volume,  12mo. 

Lives  of  the  Necromancers;  or,  an  Account  of  tho 
most  Eminent  Persons  in  Successive  Ages  who  have  claimed  for 
themselves,  or  to  whom  has  been  iiouted  hy  others,  the  Exer 
cise  of  Magical  Power.  By  William  Godwin.  12mo. 

The  South- West.     By  a  Yankee.     In  2  vols.     12mo. 

The  Rambler  in   North  America:    1832-1833.     By 

Charles  Joseph  Latrobe,  Author  of  the  "  Alpenstock,"  &c.     In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

The  Rambler  in  Mexico  :  1834.  By  Charles  Joseph 
Latrobe.  In  one  volume,  12rno. 

Common  School  Library.     First  Series.     18mo. 
Common  School  Library.     Second  Series.      18mo. 
The  Life  of  Edmund   Kean.     By   Barry   Cornwall. 

12mo. 

The  Life  of  Wiclif.  By  Charles  Webb  Le  Bas,  A.M. 
18mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

The  Life  of  Archbishop  Cranmer.  By  Charles  Webb 
Le  Bas,  A.M.  In  2  vols.  18mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

The  Consistency  of  the  whole  Scheme  of  Revelation 
with  Itself  and  with  Human  Reason.  By  Philip  Nicholas  Shut- 
tleworth,  D.D.  18mo. 

Luther  and  the  Lutheran  Reformation.  By  the  Rev. 
John  Scott,  A.M.  In  2  vols.  18mo.  With  Portraits. 

History  of  the  Reformed  Religion  in  France.  By  the 
Rev.  Edward  Smedley.  In  3  vols.  J8mo.  With  Engravings. 

A  Narrative  of  the  Visit  to  the  American  Churches,  by 
the  Deputation  from  the  Consregational  Union  of  England  and 
Wales.  By  Andrew  Reed,  D.D.  and  James  Matheson,  D  D.  In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

No  Fiction  :  a  Narrative  founded  on  Recent  and  In- 
teresting Facts.  By  the  Rev  Andrew  Reed,  D.D  New  Edi 
tion. 


Harper  <f  Brothers.  0 

Martha :  a  Memorial  of  an  only  and  beloved  Sister. 
By  the  Rev.  Andrew  Reed,  Author  of  "  No  Fiction."  12mo. 

Matthias   and  his  Impostures ;    or,   the  Progress   of 

Fanaticism.  Illustrated  in  the  extraordinary  Case  of  Robert  Mat- 
thews, and  some  of  his  Forerunners  and  Disciples.  By  William 
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The  Condition  of  Greece      By  Col.  J.  P.  Miller.     In 

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Dramatic  Scenes  from  Real  Life  By  Lady  Morgan, 
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ton.    By  E.  C.  M'Guire.    In  one  volume,  12mo. 
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drane;  or,  The^  Ayrshire  Tragedy.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott.  In 
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FAMILY    LIBRARY. 

Abundantly  Illuitrated  by  Maps,  Portraits,  and  other  Engraving?  on  Steel,  Copper,  and  Wood. 
Bound  Uniformly,  but  each  work  Bold  scparaiely. 

Nos.  1,2,  3.  The  History  of  the  Jews.  From  the 
earliest  Period  to  the  Present  Time.  By  the  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman. 
With  Engravings,  Maps,  &c. 

4,  5.  The  Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  By  J.  G. 
Lockhart,  Esq.  With  Portraits. 

C.  The  Life  of  Nelson.  By  Robert  Southey,  LL.D. 
With  a  Portrait. 

7.  The   Life   and  Actions  of  Alexander  the  Great. 
By  the  Rev.  J.  Williams.    With  a  Map. 

8.  74.      The  Natural  History  of  Insects.      In  2 
.8rno.    With  Engravings. 

9.  The  Life  of  Lord  Byron.     By  John  Gait. 


Harper  $  Brothers.  If 

10.  The  Life  of  Mohammed,  Founder  of  the  Reli- 
gion of  Islam,  and  the  Empire  of  the  ^Saracens.    By  the  Rev, 
George  Bush  of  New- York.    With  Engravings. 

11.  Letters  on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft.     By  Sir 

Walter  Scott,  Bart.    With  an  Engraving. 

12.  13.     History  of  the  Bible.     By  the  Rev.  G.  R, 

Gleig.    With  a  Map. 

14.  Narrative   of  Discovery   and  Adventure  in  the 

Polar  Seas  ami  Regions.  With  Illustrations  of  their  Climate,  Geol- 
ogy, and  Natural  History,  with  an  Account  of  the  Whale-Fishery. 
By  Professors  Leslie  and  Jameson,  arid  Hugh  Murray,  Esq.  With 
Maps,  &c. 

15.  The   Life   and  Times   of  George   the   Fourth. 

With  Anecdotes  of  Distinguished  Persons  of  the  last  Fifty  Years. 
By  the  Rev.  George  Croly. 

16.  Narrative  of  Discovery  and  Adventure  in  Africa. 

From  the  Earliest  Ages  to  the  Present  Time.  With  Illustrations 
of  its  Geology,  Mineralogy,  and  Zoology.  By  Professor  Jame- 
son, and  James  Wilson  and  Hugh  Murray,  Esqrs. 

17.  18, 19,  66,  67.      Lives  of  the  most  Eminent  Paint- 
ers and  Sculptors.     By  Allan  Cunningham,  Esq.    With  Portraits. 

20.  History  of   Chivalry   and  the    Crusades.      By 
G.  P.  R.  James.    With  Engravings. 

21,  22.     The   Life   of  Mary  Queen   of  Scots.     By 

Henry  Glassford  Bell,  Esq.     With  a  Portrait. 

23.  A  View  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Egypt.     With 
an  Outline  of  its  Natural  History.    By  the  Rev.  M.  Russell,  LL.  D. 

24.  History  of  Poland.     From  the  Earliest  Period  to 
the  Present  Time.    By  James  Fletcher,  Esq.     With  a  Portrait. 

25.  Festivals,  Games,  and  Amusements,  Ancient  and 
Modern.     By  Horatio  Smith,  Esq.     With  Additions,  by  Samuel 
Woodworth,  Esq.  of  New-York. 

26.  Life  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.     By  Sir  David  Brew- 
ster,  K.B.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.    With  Engravings. 

27.  Palestine,  or  the  Holy  Land.     From  the  Earliest 
Period  to  the  Present  Time.    By  the  Rev.  M.  Russell,  LL.D. 

28.  Memoirs  of  the  Empress  Josephine.     By  John 
S.  Memes,  LL.D.     With  Portraits. 

29.  The  Court  and  Camp  of  Bonaparte.     With  a 
Portrait. 

B 


14  ValuaMt  TYorkt  Published  by 

30.  Lives  and  Voyages  of  Drake,  Cavendish,  and 

Dampier.  Including  an  introductory  View  of  the  Earlier  Dis- 
coveries in  the  South  Seas,  and  the  History  of  the  Bucaniers 
"With  Portraits. 

31.  Description  of  Pitcairn's  Island,  and  its  Irihab 

itants.  With  an  Authentic  Account  of  the  Mutiny  of  the  Ship 
Bounty,  and  of  the  subsequent  Fortunes  of  the  Mutineers.  By 
J.  Barrow,  Esq.  With  Engravings. 

32,  72.     Sacred  History  of  the  World,  as  displayed 

in  the  Creation  and  Subsequent  Events  to  the  Deluge.  Attempt- 
ed to  be  Philosophically  considered  in  a  Series  of  Letters  to  a  Son. 
By  Sharon  Turner,  F.S.A. 

33,  34.     Memoirs  of  Celebrated  Female  Sovereigns. 
By  Mrs.  Jameson. 

35,  36.  Journal  of  an  Expedition  to  explore  the 
Course  and  Termination  of  the  Niger.  With  a  Narrative  of  a 
Voyage  down  that  River  to  its  Termination.  By  Richard  and 
John  Lander.  With  Engravings. 

37.  Inquiries  concerning  the  Intellectual  Powers,  and 
the  Investigation  of  Truth.    By  John  Abercrombie,  M.D.,  F.R.S 
With  Questions. 

38,  39,   40.     Lives   of  Celebrated   Travellers.     By 
James  Augustus  St.  John. 

41,  42.  Life  of  Frederic  the  Second,  King  of  Prussia. 
By  Lord  Dover.  With  a  Portrait. 

43,  44.  Sketches  from  Venetian  History.  By  the 
Rev.  E.  Smedley,  M.A.  With  Engravings. 

45,46.  Indian  Biography;  or,  an  Historical  Account 
of  those  individuals  who  have  been  distinguished  among  the  North 
Ameiican  Natives  as  Orators,  Warriors,  Statesmen,  and  other  Re- 
markable  Characters.  By  B.  B.  Thatcher,  Esq.  Witn  a  Portrait. 

47,  48,  49.     Historical    and  Descriptive  Account  of 

British  India.  From  the  most  Remote  Period  to  the  Present  Time. 
Including  a  Narrative  of  the  Early  Portuguese  and  English  Voy- 
ages, the  Revolutions  in  the  Mogul  Empire,  and  the  Origin,  Prog- 
ress, and  Establishment  of  the  British  Power;  with  Illustrations 
of  the  Botany,  Zoology,  Climate,  Geology,  and  Mineralogy.  By 
Hugh  Murray,  Esq.,  James  Wilson,  Esq.,  R.  K.  Greville,  LL.D., 
Whitelaw  Amslie,  M.D.,  William  Rhind,  Esq.,  Professor  Jameson, 
Piofessor  Wallace,  and  Captain  Clarence  Dalrvmple. 

50.  Letters  on  Natural  Magic.  Addressed  to  Sj 
Walter  Scott.  By  Dr.  Brewster.  With  Engravings. 


Harper  $  ffrothert.  15 

61,  52.  History  of  Ireland.  From  the  Anglo-Nor- 
man Invasion  till  the  Union  of  the  Country  with  Great  Britain 
By  W.  C.  Taylor,  Esq.  With  Additions,  by  William  Sampson, 
Esq.  With  Engravings. 

53.  Historical  View  of  the  Progress  of  Discovery  on 

the  Northern  Coasts  of  North  America.  From  the  Earliest  Pe- 
riod to  the  Present  Time.  By  P.  F.  Tytler,  Esq.  With  Descrip- 
.ive  Sketches  of  the  Natural  History  of  the  North  American 
Regions.  By  Professor  Wilson.  With  a  Map,  &c. 

54.  The  Travels  and  Researches  of  Alexander  Von 
Humboldt ;  being  a  condensed  Narrative  of  his  Journeys  in  the 
Equinoctial  Regions  of  America,  and  in  Asiatic  Russia:  together 
with  Analyses  of  his  more  important  Investigations.     By  W.  Mac- 
gilhvray,  A.M.    With  Engravings. 

55.  56.     Letters   of  Euler  on   Different  Subjects  of 
Natural  Philosophy.     Addressed  to  a  German  Princess.     Trans- 
lated by  Hunter.     With  Notes  and  a  Life  of  Euler,  by  Sir  David 
Brewster ;   with    Additional    Notes,   by  John    Griscom,   LL.D. 
With  a  Glossary  of  Scientific  Terms.    With  Engravings. 

57.  A  Popular  Guide  to  the  Observation  of  Nature  ; 

or,  Hints  of  Inducement  to  the  Study  of  Natural  Productions  and 
Appearances,  in  their  Connexions  and  Relations.  By  Robert  Mu- 
die,  Esq.  With  Engravings, 

58.  The    Philosophy  of  the    Moral   Feelings.     By 
John  Abercrombie,  M.D.,  F.R.S.    With  Questions. 

59.  On  the  Improvement  of  Society  by  the  Diffusion 

of  Knowledge.     By  Thomas  Dick,  LL.D. 

60.  History  of  Charlemagne.     To  which  is  prefixed 
an  Introduction,  comprising  the  History  of  France  from  the  Earli- 
est Period  to  the   Birth  of  Charlemagne.      By  G.  P.  R.  James. 
With  a  Portrait. 

61.  Nubia  and  Abyssinia.     Comprehending  the  Civil 

History,  Antiquities,  Arts,  Religion,  Literature,  and  Natural  His- 
tory. By  the  Rev.  M.  Russell,  LL.D.  With  a  Map  and  Engravings. 

62.  63.     The  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell.     By  the  Rev. 
M.  Russell,  LL.D.    With  a  Portrait. 

64.  Lectures  on  General  Literature,  Poetry,  &c.    By 

James  Montgomery. 

65.  Memoir  of  the  Life  of  Peter  the  Great.     By  John 
Barrow,  Esq.    With  a  Portrait. 

66.  67.     The  Lives  of  the  most  Eminent  Painters  and 
Sculptors.    By  Allan  Cunningham,  Esq.    Second  Series.    With 
Port  vails. 


l«  Valuable  Works  Published  by 

8,  69.  The  History  of  Arabia,  Ancient  and  Modern. 
Containing  a  Description  of  the  Country — An  Account  of  its  In- 
habitants, Antiquities,  Political  Condition,  and  early  Commerce— 
The  Life  and  Religion  of  Mohammed — The  Conquests,  Arts, 
and  Literature  of  the  Saracens — The  Califs  of  Damascus,  Bag- 
dad, Africa,  and  Spain — The  Government  and  Religious  Ceremo- 
nies of  the  Modern  Arabs — Origin  and  Suppression  of  the  Waha- 
bees— The  Institutions,  Character,  Manners,  and  Customs  of  the 
Bedouins  ;  and  a  Comprehensive  View  of  its  Natural  History. 
By  Andrew  Crichton.  With  a  Map  and  Engravings. 

70.  Historical  and  Descriptive  Account  of  Persia. 
From  the  Earliest  Period  to  the  Present  Time.    With  a  detailed 
View  of  its  Resources,  Government,  Population,  Natural  History, 
and  the  Character  of  its  Inhabitants,  particularly  of  the  Wander- 
ing Tribes  :  including  a  Description  of  Afghanistan.     By  James 
B.  Fraser,  Esq.     With  a  Map,  &c. 

71.  The   Principles   of  Physiology,  applied   to  the 
Preservation  of  Health,  and  to  the  Improvement  of  Physical  and 
Mental  Education.    By  Andrew  Combe,  M.D. 

72.  Sacred  History  of  the  World.     As  displayed  in 
the  Creation  and  Subsequent  Events  to  the  Deluge.    Attempted 
to  be  Philosophically  considered  in  a  Series  of  Letters  to  a  Son. 
By  S.  Turner.     Vol.  2. 

73.  History  and  Present  Condition  of  the  Barbary 

States.  Comprehending  a  View  of  their  Civil  Institutions,  Arts, 
Religion,  Literature,  Commerce,  Agriculture,  and  Natural  Pro- 
ductions. By  the  Rev.  M.  Russell,  LL.D.  With  Engravings. 

74.  The  Natural  History  of  Insects.     Vol.  2.     With 
Numerous  Engravings. 

75.  76.     A  Life  of  Washington.     By  J.  K.  Padding, 
Esq.    With  Engravings. 

77.  The  Philosophy  of  Living;  or,  the  Way  to  en- 
joy Life  and  its  Comforts.    By  Caleb  Ticknor,  A.M.,  M.D.    With 
Engravings. 

78.  The  Earth :    Its  Physical  Condition  and  most 
Remarkable  Phenomena.    By  W.  Mullinger  Higgins.     With  En- 
gravings. 

79.  A  Compendious    History  of  Italy.     Translated 
from  the  original  Italian.    By  Nathaniel  Green. 

80.  81.     The  Chinese.     A  general  Description  of  the 
Empire  of  China  and  its  Inhabitants.     By  John  Francis  Davis, 
Esq.,  F.R.S.    With  Illustrative  Engravings. 

62.'    The   Economy  of  Health ;    or,  the   Stream  of 

Human  Life,  from  the  Cradle  to  the  Grave.  With  Reflections, 
Moral,  Physical,  and  Philosophical,  on  the  Septennial  Phases  of 
Human  Existence.  Bv  James  Johnson.  M  A 


Rarpur  <f  Brothers.  17 

83.    An  Historical  Account  of  the  Circumnavigation 

of  the  Globe,  and  of  the  Progress  of  Discovery  in  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  From  the  Voyage  of  Magellan  to  the  Death  of  Cook. 
With  numerous  Engravings. 

CLASSICAL    LIBRARY. 

With  Portraits  on  iteel.    Bound  uniformly,  but  each  work  sold  separately. 

1,  2.  Xenophon.  (Anabasis,  translated  by  Edward 
Spelman,  Esq.,  Cyropaedia,  by  the  Hon.  M.  A.  Cooper.)  With  a 
Portrait. 

3.  4.  The  Orations  of  Demosthenes.  Translated  by 
Thomas  Leland,  D.D.  With  a  Portrait. 

5.  Sallust.      Translated    by   William   Rose,   M.A. 

With  Improvements. 

6,  7.     Caesar.     Translated  by  William  Duncan,  Esq. 
With  a  Portrait. 

8,  9,  10.  Cicero.  The  Orations  translated  by  Dun- 
can, the  Offices  by  Cockman,  and  the  Cato  and  Lselius  by  Mel- 
moth.  With  a  Portrait. 

11,12.  Virgil.  The  Eclogues  translated  by  Wrang- 
ham,  the  Georgics  by  Sotheby,  and  the  ^Eneid  by  Dryden.  With  a 
Portrait. 

13.  ^Eschylus.      Translated  by  the  Rev.  R.  Potter, 
M.A. 

14.  Sophocles.     Translated  by  Thomas  Francklin, 
D.D.     With  a  Portrait 

15.  16,  17.     Euripides.     Translated  by  the  Rev.  R. 

Potter,  M.A.     With  a  Portrait. 

18,  19.     Horace.     Translated  by  Philip  Francis,  D.D. 

With  an  Appendix,  containing  translations  of  various  Odes,  &c. 
By  Ben  Jonson,  Cowley,  Milton,  Dryden,  Pope,  Addison,  Swift, 
Bentley,  Chatterton,  G.  Wakefield,  Porson,  Byron,  &c.  And  by 
some  of  the  most  eminent  Poets  of  the  present  day.  And 

Phacdrus.  With  the  Appendix  of  Gudius.  Translated 
by  Christopher  Smart,  A.M.  With  a  Portrait. 

20,  21.    Ovid.     Translated  by    Dryden,  Pope,  Con- 

greve,  Addison,  and  others.    With  a  Portrait. 

22,  23.  Thucydides.  Translated  by  William  Smith, 
A.M.  With  a  Portrait. 

BQ 


18  Valuable  T* rorks  Published  by 

24,  25,  26,  27,  28.  Livy.     Translated  by  George  Ba- 
ker, A.M.     With  a  Portrait. 

29,  30,  31.      Herodotus.      Translated  by  the  Rer. 
William  Beloe.    With  a  Portrait. 

32,  33,  34.     Homer.     Translated  by  Alexander  Pope, 
Esq.     "With  a  Portrait. 

35.  Juvenal.     Translated  by  Charles  Badham,  M.D. 

F.R.S.  New  Edition.  With  an  Appendix,  containing  Imita- 
tions of  the  Thiid  and  Tenth  Satires  By  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson, 
To  which  are  added,  THE  SATIRES  OF  PERSIUS. 

36.  Pindar.     Translated  by  the  Rev.  C.  A.  Wheel- 
wright.   And 

Anacreon.     Translated  by  Thomas  Bourne. 


BOYS'  AND  GIRLS'  LIBRARY. 

Illustrated  by  numerous  Engravings.    Bound  uniformly,  but  each  volume  sold  separately. 

No.  1.  Lives  of  the  Apostles  and  Early  Martyrs  of 
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2,  3.  The  Swiss  Family  Robinson ;  or,  Adventures 
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progress  of  the  Story  forming  a  clear  Illustration  of  the  First  Prin- 
ciples of  Natural  History,  arid  many  Branches  of  Science  which 
most  immediately  apply  to  the  Business  of  Life.  With  Engravings. 

4,  13,  18.  Sunday  Evenings;   or,  an  Easy  Introduc- 
tion to  the  Reading  of  the  Bible.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Infant 
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5.  The  Son  of  a  Genius.     A  Tale,  for  the  Use  of 

Youth.     By  Mrs.  Hofland.     With  Engravings. 

6.  Natural   History ;   or,  Uncle    Philip's   Conversa 
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9,  10,  11.  Tales  from  American  History.  By  the 
Author  of  •'  American  Popular  Lessons."  With  Engravings. 

12.  The  Young  Crusoe  ;  or,  the  Shipwrecked  Boy . 
Containing  an  Account  of  his  Shipwreck,  and  of  his  Residence 
alone  upon  an  Uninhabited  Island.  By  Mrs.  Hofland.  With  En- 
gravings 


vv  .  n  .    i  f-\  n  v  c,  n  , 

INTELLIGENCE  BUREAU 
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CIRCULATING   LIBRARY, 

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of  Remarkable  and  A  fleeting  Disasters  upon  the  Deep.  With  II- 
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16.  Caroline  Westerley  ;    or,  the    Young  Traveller 
from  Ohio.     By  Mrs.  Phelps  (formerly  Mrs.  Lincoln).     With  En- 
gravings. 

17.  The  Clergyman's  Orphan,  and  other  Tales.     By 
a  Clergyman.    Fur  the  Use  of  Youth.    With  Engravings. 

19.  The   Ornaments    Discovered.     By    Mrs.  Hughs. 

With  Engravings. 

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23.  24.     Uncle  Philip's  Conversations  with  the  Chil- 

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25.  Tales  of  the  American  Revolution.     By  B.  B. 
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dren about  the  Whale-fishery  and  Polar  Seas.    With  numerous 
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^5&&& 


'?/!  *c2r        ^ 
A    STORY    OF    TH  E%£  &$$£}* 

*3 


BY    THE   AUTHOR   OF 


"MELLICHAMPE,"  "  THE  YEMASSEE,"  "  GUY  RIVERS,' 
'    "  THE  PARTISAN,"  «  MARTIN  FABER,"  &c. 


1  Nor  should  the  narrow  spirit  chide  the  toil 
Through  these  old  ruins.    They  have  noble  spoil 
And  goodly  treasure." 


IN     TWO     VOLUMES. 

VOL.  I. 


NEW-YORK: 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

1838. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1838,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York, 


. 


S5Tf^ 

T^' 


TO 


WILLIAM   HAYNE   SIMMONS, 

OF  EAST  FLORIDA— 

TO    ONE  WHOSE    MUSE,  ALIKE    GRACEFUL    AND    CORRECT, 
IS    OBNOXIOUS    TO    NO    CENSURE    SAVE    THAT    WHICH 
IS    DUE    TO    HER    INDOLENCE,    I    BEG    LEAVE, 
WITH    AFFECTIONATE    RESPECT, 

&o  Xnscrtbe  t$i*  Romance. 

W.  G.  S. 

Woodland,  S.  Carolina,  May  20th,  1838. 


ADVERTISEMENT 


IN  this  story,  which  has  a  basis  sufficiently  his- 
torical to  be  called  an  historical  romance,  the'  read- 
er will  yet  discover  some  few  departures  from  what 
is  usually  received  as  history.  But  let  this  give 
him  no  concern.  The  license  is  less  real  than 
seeming.  My  facts  are,  perhaps,  quite  as  genuine 
as  the  greater  number  of  those  more  ostentatious 
narratives,  devoted  to  the  period  and  place  of  which 
I  write,  which  boldly  announce  their  veracity  in  the 
titlepage.  Nothing  can  be  more  contradictory  and 
uncertain  than  the  authorities,  so  called,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Gothic-Spain,  particularly  during  the  time 
which  this  story  occupies.  On  many  of  the  leading 
topics  and  events  no  two  of  the  chroniclers  agree  ; 
and  such  is  the  extent  of  this  discrepance,  that 
some  of  the  more  important  personages,  such  as 
the  Lady  Cava,  for  example,  are  supposed,  by  one 
class  of  these  historians,  never  to  have  had  exist- 
ence. The  only  instance  in  which  I  may  fairly  be 
convicted  of  departing  from  facts  on  which  the  his- 
torians are  generally  agreed,  is  in  finding  other 
names  than  those  which  they  bore  for  the  fugitive 
sons  of  King  Witiza.  One  of  these  I  have  made 
synonymous  with  the  native  hero,  most  insisted 
upon  by  the  Spaniards  as  the  founder  of  their  na- 


Vlll  ADVERTISEMENT. 

tion,  and  its  defender  against  the  Africans ;  whom 
he  frequently  defeated  and  constantly  baffled  among 
the  fastnesses  of  the  Aslurias,  at  a  time  when  those 
fierce  invaders  overrun  the  country  with  little  or 
no  resistance  elsewhere.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  add  that  this  hero  gives  the  name  to  my  story, 
and  that  his  adventures  form  a  portion  of  its  mate- 
rial. 

Charleston,  S.  C.,  September,  1838. 


P  E  L  A  Y  O: 


A    STORY    OF    THE    GOTH. 


B  O  O  K  L 


P  E  L  A  Y  O, 


BOOK   I. 


I. 


THKRE  is,  after  all,  only  a  certain  quantity  of  power 
in  the  world,  and  the  loss  of  it  from  one  spot  simply  an- 
nounces its  transfer  to  another.  Our  plaints  for  the 
decayed  town  or  the  ruined  empire,  grateful  enough  to 
the  spirit  of  poetry,  are  not  often  called  for  in  reality. 
These  events  usually  result  from  some  leading  necessity, 
which,  deplorable  enough  at  the  time,  the  foresight  of  a 
benevolent  Providence  designs  for  some  lasting  and 
general  benefit.  Our  regrets  are  most  usually  pre- 
cipitate :  our  sorrows,  in  half  the  number  of  cases* 
in  advance  of  their  occasion,  and  imagination,  in  this 
way,  too  frequently  usurps  the  province  of  experience. 
Change  is  the  subject  of  lament,  for  ever,  with  the  men 
who  are  themselves  stationary — the  men  who  receive, 
but  never  transmit,  opinions.  Innovation,  sometimes 
ruinous  is  always  of  good  import,  since  it  indicates 
mental  activity— the  lack  of  which  is  the  worst  feature  in 
the  history  of  men  and  nations.  Even  revolutions,  the 
horrors  of  which  are  lamentable,  are  injurious  to  places 
rather  than  to  people.  The  great  bulk  of  mankind  grow 
wiser  upon  them,  and  the  discovery  of  a  new  abiding- 
place,  like  the  discovery  of  a  new  truth,  must  always 
afford  an  added  empire  to  thought,  and  a  wider  realm  to 
the  wing  of  liberty. 

Vot.  I.— B 


14 


II. 

WITH  the  decay  of  Rome  arose  the  stupendous  genius 
of  the  Gothic  empire,  happily  imaged  by  Hercules,  its 
tutelar  divinity.  Auxiliaries  first,  then  allies,  the  Visi- 
goths became  at  last,  under  Euric,  protectors  of  the 
Romans.  The  power  of  this  monarch  was  prodigious. 
In  the  language  of  history,  as  well  as  of  the  poet,  the 
North  was  excited  or  appeased  by  his  nod  ;  and  Rome, 
the  proud  and  terrible,  was  content  to  receive  the  aid 
and  recognise  the  law,  of  a  race  it  still  continued  to 
consider  as  barbarian.  At  this  period  the  Visigoths 
were  dreaded  among  the  mightiest  nations,  even  so  re- 
mote as  Persia ;  and  the  oracle  of  history  here  pauses 
to  demand,  to  what  magnitude  would  their  power 
have  risen  had  Euric,  under  whom  it  grew,  survived 
till  the  maturity  of  his  son  Alaric,  and  had  not  the  na- 
tional adversary  been  Clovis,  the  valiant  and  ambitious 
genius,  raised  up,  we  may  suppose  as  an  especial  agent, 
for  its  control.  France  took  rank  with  the  death  of 
Euric.  Alaric  ascended  the  throne  of  the  Visigoths 
when  a  mere  boy,  and  the  circumstance  stimulated  the 
bigoted  Franks  into  hostile  activity.  They  were  ortho- 
dox Catholics,  the  Visigoths  were  Arians.  "  It  grieves 
me,"  cried  Clovis  to  his  warriors,  "  it  grieves  me  to  see 
the  Arians  in  possession  of  the  fairest  part  of  Gaul. 
Let  us  march  against  them,  and,  with  the  aid  of  God, 
vanquish  these  heretics,  and  divide  their  provinces." 
Bigotry  and  spoil,  the  common  stimulants  of  war,  had 
their  due  influence.  The  proposition  was  received 
with  a  unanimous  shout  of  assent,  and  Clovis  marched 
upon  his  enemy.  The  two  monarchs  met  near  Poic- 
tiers ;  a  decisive  battle  took  place, — the  Visigoths  were 
defeated,  and  Alaric  slain.  The  provinces  were  divided, 
and  the  honours  of  the  Catholic  faith  restored  by  the 
strong  arm  in  all  those  portions  of  Gaul  from  which  tho 
Arian  Goths  had  hitherto  expelled  it. 


PELAYO.  15 


III. 


SIXTY  years  after  this  event,  Leovogild  ascended  the 
throne  of  the  Goths.  He  rolled  back  the  tide  of  war 
upon  his  enemies,  sustained  and  reinvigorated  his  droop-* 
ing  people,  and  by  mixed  valour  and  prudence  effect- 
ually restored  the  confidence  and  stability  of  the  kingdom. 
From  his  time  to  that  of  Witiza,  a  space  of  a  hundred 
years,  this  prosperity  continued,  and  the  Goths  were  still 
powerful  by  sea  and  land.  The  reign  of  Witiza  at  the 
outset  promised  a  like  increase  of  glory  with  that  of  his 
predecessors.  Brave  and  equitable  at  first,  he  gave  to 
the  choice  of  the  people  the  fullest  sanction,  while  main- 
taining for  a  long  period  the  same  elevated  character. 
Justice  .and  moderation,  so  far,  marked  the  progress  of 
his  rule  ;  and  the  best  evidence,  perhaps,  of  the  correct- 
ness of  history  in  its  estimate  of  his  virtues,  may  be 
gathered  from  the  fact  that,  for  the  first  time  in  a  long 
series  of  years,  a  liberal  and  independent  spirit  began  to 
prevail  throughout  the  nation,  adorning,  with  a  show  of 
moral  beauty,  that  name  which  was  soon  to  be  blotted 
out  for  ever.  Powerful  and  seemingly  united  at  home, 
feared,  or  at  least  respected,  among  the  neighbouring 
nations,  the  empire  of  the  Goths,  at  this  time,  was  not 
unworthy  of  the  high-flown  pretension  with  which  it 
claimed  and  challenged  a  comparison  with  Rome.  Al- 
most arrogant  in  its  boldness,  we  may  yet  estimate 
highly  its  firm  resolve  and  elevated  character,  when, 
under  the  sway  of  the  present  monarch,  we  find  the 
National  Council  of  Toledo  firmly  and  successfully  re- 
sisting the  demand  then  urged  by  the  Pope,  as  successor 
to  St.  Peter,  of  absolute  dominion  in  and  over  the 
Christian  states  of  Europe.  Such  was  the  nation  then  5 
but,  in  one  sense,  the  evidence  of  character  is  defective. 
The  nation  was  never  nigher  than  at  that  moment, 
to  its  overthrow.  The  independence  and  improved 


16  PELAYO. 

mental  character  of  the  people  were  the  deadliest  foes 
possessed  by  the  existing  government.  Their  affections 
were  not  with  their  rulers — there  was  no  community 
of  feeling  between  them.  A  new  truth  had  gotten 
abroad  among  men.  Veneration,  the  bearded  despot, 
was  tottering  upon  his  ancient  towers.  Implicit  obe- 
.  dience  had  given  way  to  doubt — doubt  had  brought  in- 
quiry into  exercise,  and  the  scales  of  superstition  and  a 
blind  obedience  had  fallen,  in  consequence,  from  a 
thousand  eyes.  Once  seeing,  it  saw  all — it  never  slept 
again.  The  very  power  which  had  bidden  defiance  to  the 
chains  of  Rome  was  of  itself  fatal  to  the  old  tyrannies 
which  had  made  a  serf  of  the  subject,  and  degraded  the 
neck  of  manhood  to  a  collar.  Power  was  embraced  by 
change,  and  the  issue  was  revolution. 


IV. 


MODERATE  tyrannies  are  of  all  others  the  most  dan- 
gerous and  deadly,  and  it  is  therefore  fortunate  for 
mankind  that  it  is  the  very  essence  of  misrule  to  glide  or 
leap  into  excess.  Excess  provokes  resistance,  and  the 
tyranny  is  overthrown.  To  Witiza  himself  the  reigning 
prince,  is  ascribed  the  activity  of  innovation  and  thought 
among  the  people.  Though,  at  first,  rather  remarkable 
for  the  equity  and  moderation  of  his  rule,  the  possession 
of  power  beyond  the  legitimate  grasp  of  his  own  intellect, 
as  in  the  case  of  Nero,  is  said  to  have  corrupted  his 
heart :  it  certainly  changed  his  character.  His  reign,  in 
progress  of  time,  became  unpopular — with  a  part  of  the 
nation  at  least ;  and  some  harsh  proceedings  against  the 
Jews,  who  continued  to  draw  out  a  miserable  existence, 
under  every  sort  of  privation,  among  a  people  whose 
laws  denied  them  toleration  and  decreed  their  expulsion, 
at  length  prompted  this  oppressed  and  wretched  people 
to  an  intrigue  with  the  neighbouring  Saracens — even 
then,  to  the  Goths,  a  frequent  and  formidable  enemy. 


PELAYO.  .  17 

Such  an  event  threatened  the  empire,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, with  foreign  and  intestine  war.  But  the  aim  of 
the  Jews  miscarried — their  plans  were  discovered  in 
time  for  prevention,  the  insurrectionists  were  put  down ; 
and,  as  a  necessary  consequence,  their  bonds  grew 
heavier  and  their  penalties  less  endurable  than  ever. 


V. 

BUT  though  the  insurrectionists  were  quelled,  or 
quieted,  the  general  discontent  following  internal  strife 
and  unaccustomed  privation  was  not  so  readily  subdued. 
War  and  disaffection  had  brought  their  own  troubles 
along  with  them ;  and,  as  in  the  old  condition  of  all  the 
European  states  there  never  could  have  been  any  sym- 
pathy between  the  ruler  and  the  great  body  of  the  ruled, 
the  intrigues  of  the  oppressed  Jews  had  opened  the  eyes 
of  thousands,  in  other  classes,  to  their  own  oppression. 
In  the  general  ferment,  the  Gothic  nobles,  who  were 
luxurious  and  sensual,  had  their  sufficient  share ;  and 
by  their  arts  the  people  were  stimulated  to  that  fever 
which  was  to  be  their  own  death.  They  were  no  longer 
the  brave  barbarians  who,  under  Euric,  had  vanquished 
the  martial  nobles  of  the  Tarragonese  provinces,  had 
penetrated  to  the  heart  of  Lusitania,  and, when  Odoacer 
usurped  the  sovereignty  of  Italy,  compelled  him  to  yield 
up,  as  far  as  the  Rhine  and  the  ocean,  all  the  Roman 
conquests  beyond  the  Alps.  They  were  no  longer  the 
people  whose  dauntless  valour  overcame  the  hardy  dis- 
cipline of  the  Roman  legion.  They  too  had  soon  fallen 
into  all  the  degeneracies  and  the  tastes  of  Rome.  Like 
her,  and  with  far  greater  rapidity,  they  had  sunk  from  all 
the  attributes  of  that  forward  valour  and  manly  simplicity 
of  character  which  had  made  them,  like  her,  the  sover- 
eigns of  the  world  and  period.  To  a  people  so  deterio- 
rated, the  consequences  of  unaccustomed  warfare  may 
readily  be  told.  Discontent  among  the  people  grew  with 
B2 


18  PELAYO* 

increasing  expenditure  on  the  part  of  the  nobles.  The 
latter,  under  oppressions  not  sanctioned  by  popular  sym- 
pathy, had  occasioned  expenditures  which  that  people 
were  yet  to  satisfy.  This  taught  them  the  difference  of 
interest  which,  once  known,  must  overthrow  every  rule 
— the  difference  between  the  people  and  their  rulers — 
the  consciousness  of  a  dissimilarity  of  purpose  and 
position,  at  once  provoking  discontent  and  demanding 
hostility.  Nor  was  this  spirit  of  dissatisfaction  entirely, 
confined  to  the  people.  The  inferior  nobles  had  their 
discontents  also;  discontents  which  continued  to  in- 
crease as  they  surveyed  the  excesses  in  which  the  more 
wealthy  of  their  order  engaged.  They  craved  equally 
their  indulgences,  but  they  lacked  the  necessary  re- 
sources. To  oppress  the  inferior,  therefore — to  imitate 
the  exactions  of  those  above  them — was  the  resort  of  this 
latter  division.  The  Jews,  for  whom,  after  their  late 
intrigue,  there  was  little  sympathy,  were  the  first  and 
legitimate  victims.  Their  goods  were  the  common  spoil, 
and  what  they  could  not  withhold  or  secrete,  became,  in 
great  part,  the  prey  of  their  oppressors.  After  these, 
the  inferior  orders  of  the  Christians — for  religion  does 
not  hold  ground  against  misrule — succeeded  to  their  fate, 
and  a  reckless  and  rash  spirit  of  provocation  throughout 
the  land  paved  the  way  for  a  downfall  of  that  power  in 
which  the  sway  of  the  government  seemed  to  be  de- 
posited. Nothing  could  limit  the  excesses  of  this  petty 
nobility,  which  did  not  content  itself  with  the  possessions 
of  the  inferior,  but,  in  the  end,  proceeded  to  subject  to 
its  unrefined  desires  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
classes  most  unprivileged,  or  seeming  least  secure. 


VI. 

WITH  a  re-awakening  of  the  early  spirit  of  virtue 
which  was  said  to  have  distinguished  the  outset  of  his 
reign,  and  from  which  he  had  himself  lamentably  fallerii 


PELAYO.  19 

the  king,  Witiza,  determined  to  make  head  against  these 
excesses.  In  aid  of  this  determination,  it  so  hap- 
pened that  Theodofred,  an  old  and  decayed  noble,  was 
guilty  of  a  gross  outrage  upon  a  woman  of  the  lower 
orders.  The  rabble  took  up  the  cause  of  justice,  and 
pursued  the  offender  into  the  very  court  of  the  palace  of 
Toledo.  Theodofred,  secure  as  he  thought  of  the  pro- 
tection of  the  king,  no  less  than  of  his  caste,  looked  to 
be  defended  against  the  rabble  which  pursued  him ; 
but  he  was  mistaken.  Whether  it  was  that  a  sentiment 
of  right  in  reality  gave  the  monarch  a  spur  to  justice, 
or  whether,  as  is  more  probable,  he  hoped  by  a  timely 
and  severe  act  of  authority  to  win  back  some  of  those 
golden  opinions  from  the  people  which  he  had  but  too 
obviously  neglected,  may  now  only  be  conjectured  ;  but 
his  proceeding  was  marked  with  all  the  decision,  even  if 
it  lacked  the  impulse  and  the  intention  of  justice.  He 
met  the  crowd — assured  them  of  his  sympathy,  and 
promised  them  the  adequate  punishment  of  the  criminal. 
They  were  pacified,  and  he  kept  his  word.  Theodofred 
was  immediately  deprived  of  his  sight — a  favourite  pun- 
ishment with  the  Goths — and,  in  despite  of  the  prayers 
and  murmurs  of  the  nobles,  was  immured,  under  the 
doom  of  imprisonment  for  life,  in  a  dungeon  at  Cordova. 


VII. 

THIS  terrible,  but  strictly  just,  punishment  was  the 
signal  for  a  greater  rebellion  than  that  which  had  been 
recently  put  down.  The  nobles  made  common  cause 
in  defence  of  their  order,  the  privileges  of  which  they 
asserted  to  have  been  invaded.  Witiza  refused  to  make 
any  concessions,  and  they  raised  the  standard  of  insur- 
rection throughout  the  kingdom.  The  common  people 
themselves,  though  truly  without  motive  for  coalition 
with  the  nobles,  joined  with  them  against  the  sovereign, 
in  whose  person  they  saw  only  the  imbodied  form  of 


20  PELAYO. 

that  domination  which  had  oppressed  them.  To  these, 
the  Jews,  glad  of  any  chances  for  that  commotion  which 
they  had  themselves  laboured  to  provoke  in  vain,  at  once 
gave  all  their  assistance.  Thus,  welded  into  one,  the 
extreme  castes  of  the  nation  stood  up,  a  solid  and  head- 
long power,  in  array  against  their  common  ruler.  It 
was  Roderick,  the  son  of  Theodofred,  that  led  them. 
His  wrong  was  that  most  present  to  their  eyes,  and  his 
valour  and  known  recklessness,  at  the  same  time,  lent 
force  to  the  suggestion  that  proposed  him  as  their  leader. 
His  first  stroke  against  the  sovereign  was  made  in  the 
city  of  Cordova.  The  dungeon  which  enclosed  his 
sightless  father  was  assaulted  and  stormed — the  son 
stood  before  the  sire,  and  was  unseen. 

"Who  is  it  that  approaches? — what  new  danger  awaits 
me  ?  Must  Theodofred  look  now  for  death  from  the 
hands  of  Witiza  ?  Lo !  I  am  ready,"  was  the  speech 
of  the  captive. 

"  Not  death  I — not  death  !  but  freedom  !"  exclaimed 
the  son. 

**  Who  speaks  ? — that  voice — "  cried  the  victim,  as 
he  tottered  forward  at  the  well-known  sounds. 

"  Is  thy  son's — is  Roderick's.  He  brings  thee  free- 
dom and  vengeance.  Father !  I  stand  before  thee." 

"  I  hear  thee,  but  I  see  thee  not,  my  son !" 

"  That  is  a  word  for  strife  and  a  fierce  vengeance,  and 
thou  shalt  have  it !  I  swear  it  on  my  sword,  the  tyrant 
shall  perish,  even  as  thy  sight." 

*«  Approach — let  my  hand  press  thy  head — let  me 
feel,  for  I  know  thee  not,  my  son." 

The  son  knelt  to  the  blind  old  sire,  and  the  guided 
hands  rested  upon  the  uncovered  head  in  benediction. 
The  warriors  around  hailed  the  auspices  with  a  shout 
of  fierce  enthusiasm,  and  they  daringly  began  the  war 
which  was  destined  to  shake  the  kingdom  of  the  Goths 
to  its  centre.  Three  armies,  at  the  same  moment, 
traversed  the  empire.  One  of  these  was  led  by  Witiza, 
who,  lacking  nothing  of  the  valour  come  from  his  ances- 


PKLATO.  21 

tors  in  direct  lineage,  at  once  went  forth  against  thq 
insurgents.  Another,  and  the  most  numerous,  was 
that  of  Roderick.  The  third,  infinitely  inferior  in  every 
respect  to  both  of  these,  was  led,  in  support  of  the  reign- 
ing monarch,  by  his  two  sons,  Egiza  and  Pelayo ;  but 
at  too  great  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  war  to  co-ope- 
rate with  their  sire  against  the  approaching  power  of  his 
enemy. 


VIII. 

THE  respective  armies  of  the  sovereign  and  the  rebel, 
after  several  skirmishes,  indecisive  and  only  stimulating 
a  wish  for  a  closer  struggle,  met,  at  length,  under  the 
walls  of  the  capital  city  of  Toledo.  The  close  strife 
of  the  sword,  the  spear,  and  the  cleaving  battle-axe, 
came  terribly  on,  after  the  manner  of  the  time,  and  with 
a  revival  of  much  of  that  sanguinary  valour  long  sus- 
pended in  their  history,  but  which,  at  one  time,  had  made 
even  the  Imperial  Queen  of  Cities,  the  mighty  Rome, 
cower  and  give  back  before  the  Gothic  arms.  Then 
rose  the  shout  and  the  hurrah — the  cry  of  conquest  and 
die  shriek  of  pain — the  concentrated  hate  and  malignity 
so  naturally  the  result  of  a  strife  in  which  people  of  the 
same  land  and  origin  stand  up  in  arms  against  each 
other,  The  insolent  hope  of  rebellion  rose  into  a  des- 
perate halloo,  mingled  with  the  confident  cry  of  legitimate 
power.  Both  were  anxious,  prompted  by  leading,  but 
different  motives.  Never  were  the  arms  of  opposing 
arrays  more  equally  balanced.  The  battle  was  protracted 
from  sunrise  to  sunset ;  now  approaching,  and  now  re- 
ceding from  beneath,  the  walls  of  Toledo.  The  citizens 
thronged  upon  the  towers  and  the  battlements,  looking 
forth  in  anxious  doubt  upon  the  progress  of  the  strife. 
Twice  did  the  insurrectionists  fall  back  in  panic  before  the 
well-ordered  array  of  the  sovereign.  Twice  did  Witiza, 
with  the  golden  horns  of  royalty  upon  his  brow,  and 


22  PELAYO. 

mounted  upon  a  car  blazing  with  jewels,  such  as  was  com- 
mon to  all  the  luxurious  monarchs  of  the  Goths,  rush 
forward  upon  the  retreating  thousands  of  Roderick,  cry- 
ing, "  Victory  ! — victory  !  gallant  nobles  and  fair  gentle- 
men of  Spain — one  more  blow — one  more  blow,  and  a 
rich  prize  for  the  head  of  the  traitor."  But  such  was 
not  the  destiny  of  the  insurgent  chief.  He  threw 
himself  into  the  thick  of  battle.  He  stood  in  the  path 
of  his  retreating  troops — his  own  sword  cleft  the  neck 
of  the  foremost  fugitive,  and  his  voice  rang,  like  a  clear 
note  from  the  full-throated  trumpet,  in  a  peal  more  full 
of  terror  than  any  shock  of  the  foe.  He  cheered  them 
with  a  new  hope — he  led  them  forward  with  a  fresh 
strength  and  better  decision,  and,  for  the  third  time,  the 
armies  clashed  spears  in  opposing  battle.  How  close 
was  that  struggle — how  doubtful  the  result !  What  then 
were  the  hopes  of  insurrection — what  then  the  doubts 
of  legitimacy!  '  The  stake  was  great  alike,  to  the 
sovereign  and  the  rebel ;  and  the  efforts  of  both  were 
worthy  of  the  adventure.  For  a  long  time  the  battle 
hung  in  suspense — a  feather's  weight,  a  word  more  or 
less,  on  either  side,  had  determined  the  issue  ;  and,  duly 
.conscious  of  this  truth,  Roderick  determined  to  single 
out,  and  by  opposing  manfully  the  danger  in  its  very 
head,  if  possible,  to  make  it  less.  Through  the  thick 
masses  he  pressed  forward  on  his  way.  Amid  the 
crowd  and  the  dust,  defying  the  hostile  spear,  and  dash- 
ing aside  the  friendly,  the  strong-armed  rebel  rushed 
daringly  to  grapple  with  his  king.  Witiza  beheld  his  ap- 
proach, and  readily  conceived  his  object.  He  shrank 
not  from  the  encounter,  but,  leaping  from  his  car  of 
battle,  armed  only  with  battle-axe  and  sword,  he  stood 
upon  a  small  eminence,  and  waved  his  hand  in  signal  to 
his  enemy.  His  nobles  gave  back  at  his  bidding,  and, 
as  if  by  tacit  consent,  the  two  armies  threw  up  their 
crossed  spears  and  suspended  their  strokes,  in  breathless 
anticipation  of  the  single  combat  of  the  chiefs. 
*«  I  have  thee,  tyrant ! — I  have  thee  now,  for  vengeance  I" 


PELAYO.  23 

cried  Roderick  as  he  came  ;  and  he  lifted  his  battle-axe 
to  his  shoulder,  and  rushed  fearlessly  up  the  hill. 

"  Thou  comest  for  justice,  and  thou  shalt  have  it, 
traitor !"  cried  the  monarch,  who  knew  how  much  he 
might  rely  on  his  ancient  prowess. 

And  then  came  the  stroke  and  the  clash — the  affront- 
ing thrust  of  the  sword  and  the  resolute  parry,  the  keen 
eye  guiding  it  in  the  true  direction,  so  that  it  touched 
not.  The  king  gave  back  before  the  rebel,  and  then 
rose,  with  a  thrilling  joy,  the  shout  from  the  force  of  the 
insurgents ;  then  trembled  the  ranks  of  the  sovereign, 
and  they  would  have  rushed  forward  to  his  aid  ;  but 
when  they  looked  again,  it  was  Roderick  who  had  shrunk 
— Witiza  pressing  upon  him,  and  the  rebel  partly  upon  his 
knee.  Once  more  did  he  recover  to  the  attack,  arid  so 
stoutly  plied  he  his  blows  that  the  weary  arm  of  the 
monarch  might  well  have  failed  to  meet  them  with  cor- 
responding vivacity.  But  Witiza  had  an  old  renown. 
Had  he  not  met  the  insurgent  Basques,  and  overthrown 
the  Tarragonese  nobles,  and  driven  back  the  invading 
Franks,  until  his  name  became  a  terror  to  each  foreign 
power  ?  Should  he  now  give  back  before  rebellion  1 
He  did  not;  he  knew  the  strength  of  his  arm — the 
superiority  of  his  skill — and  his  soul  was  fearless  as  his 
steel  was  true.  He  put  aside  his  enemy's  blows,  and 
dreadful  and  thick  were  his  own.  It  was  Roderick's 
turn  to  shrink — to  give  way — to  flee.  He  yielded  to 
what  seemed  his  destiny,  and  the  brave  monarch  pressed 
hard  upon  the  rebel,  as,  fighting  and  facing  to  the  last, 
he  descended,  still  battling,  from  the  eminence  where,  in 
the  sight  of  both  armies,  the  combat  had  been  going  on. 
At  that  instant  a  voice  arose  from  the  crowd  of  insur- 
gent chiefs— a  solemn,  deep  voice  of  inquiry.  It  came 
from  the  lips  of  the  blind  Theodofred. 

"  Speak !"  cried  he  to  the  warriors  around  him — 
"  speak !  tell  me  how  the  fight  goes  ;  for  I  hear  not  the 
shouts  of  our  people,  and  my  eyes  see  not  the  form  of 
my  son." 


24  PELAYO. 

Roderick  heard — and  shame  and  a  new  fury  grew 
active  in  his  bosorn. 

"1  right  still,  my  father.  Thou  shall  have  ven- 
geance* though  thine  eyes  behold  it  not.  Ho!  Witiza,  I 
cross  swords  with  thee  again  !"  and  he  resolutely  rushed 
up  the  hill.  The  monarch  met  him,  unrelaxing,with  his 
ancient  spirit. 

"  Thou  art  not  stronger,  nor  I  weaker,  thou  traitor, 
than  when  I  struck  with  thee  before.  Thy  hope  shall 
be  the  same." 

And  they  renewed  the  strife ;  but  scarcely  had  it  be- 
gun, when  an  arrow — a  single  arrow — perfidiously  shot 
from  the  insurgent  ranks,  with  deadly  aim,  penetrated 
the  eye  of  Witiza.  The  monarch  reeled  beneath  the 
SDH  ft,  and  his  lifted  hattle-axe  struck  wide  of  the  head 
of  his  enemy,  upon  which  it  was  otherwise  unerringly 
descending.  In  that  moment  he  cried — 
^  *'  Ha  !  slave,  thou  hast  slain  thy  king  !  It  is  over." 

Dizzy  and  dazzled,  he  reeled  about  like  one  drunk 
with  wine,  and  the  steel  of  Roderick's  weapon  then 
penetrated  his  bosom.  He  clasped  the  weapon-blade 
in  his  hands,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  earth.  The  star  of 
rebellion  was  triumphant  and  in  the  ascendant,  while 
that  of  Witiza  went  down  in  blood.  The  king  of  the 
Goths  lay  prostrate  beneath  his  conqueror,  the  foot  of 
the  rebel  was  upon  his  breast,  and  the  cry  of  horror 
from  the  one  array,  arid  the  shout  of  exultation  from  the 
other,  went  up  in  a  fierce  diapason,  as  thus,  bestriding 
his  victim,  his  sharp  blade  smote  the  neck  of  the  sover- 
eign, till  the  gray  head  rolled  from  it  along  the  hill. 
That  event  determined  the  conflict — the  courage  of 
Witiza's  army  fell  with  its  leader ;  and,  now  a  confusion, 
and  now  a  rout,  they  fled  before  their  enemy.  The 
streets  of  the  neighbouring  city  of  Toledo,  to  which  they 
retreated  for  shelter,  ran  thick  with  their  blood,  as, 
without  offering  resistance,  they  sunk  under  the  swords 
of  their  pursuers.  In  that  hour,  while  yet  the  conqueror 
stood  over  the  body  of  his  sovereign,  and  on  the  spot 


PELAYO.  25 

where  he  had  slain  him,  three  of  his  bravest  warriors 
seized  upon  him,  and  pinioned  him  to  the  earth.  A 
dozen  crossed  their  spears  over  his  body,  while  in  his 
sight  waved  as  many  swords. 

*'  Swear '/'  cried  the  chiefs. 

"  Swear  !"  cried  the  people. 

"  Swear  as  a  Gothic  noble  !"  cried  the  nobles. 

"  Swear  as  a  Goth !"  cried  the  common  soldiery. 

"  I  swear  as  a  Goth — I  swear  as  a  noble  !"  was  the 
response  of  Roderick. 

"  Swear  to  be  honourable !"  cried  one  of  the  former. 

"  Swear  to  be  merciful !"  cried  one  of  the  latter. 

"  Swear  to  be  true  !"  cried  the  noble. 

"  Swear  to  be  just !"  cried  the  soldier. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  great  Gqd  of  heaven  and  earth 
— the  friend  of  man — the  protector  of  the  Goths — the 
father  of  the  most  holy  faith,  I,  Roderick,  son  of  Theodo- 
fred,  and  true  descendant  from  Chindaswind  the  Goth, 
I  swear  to  you,  nobles  of  the  Goths — I  swear  to  be  hon- 
ourable and  true.  I  swear  to  you,  people  of  the  Goth — 
I  swear  to  be  just  and  merciful.  God  sees,  God  hears  ! 
I  have  sworn !" 

"Bring  the  buckler — he  has  sworn,"  was  the  cry 
of  those  around  him.  The  buckler  was  brought,  and, 
raising  the  successful  rebel  from  the  earth,  they  placed 
him  upon  it,  pronouncing  him  their  king,  and  the  king 
of  the  Goths.  As  with*  one  voice,  the  vast  multitude 
then  swore  allegiance  to  one  destined  to  be  the  last 
monarch  of  their  once  mighty  empire. 


IX. 


A  FEW  leagues  off  from  the  scene  of  battle,  but 
rapidly  advancing  along  the  Tagus  with  levies  hastily 
gathered  among  the  neighbouring  towns  and  provinces, 
came  the  two  young  princes,  Egiza  and  Pelayo,  sons 
of  the  monarch  whose  death  we  have  just  witnessed. 

VOL.  I C 


26  FELAYO. 

They  had  been  aiming  at  a  junction  with  their  father, 
but  though  they  had  hurried  with  all  due  diligence  with 
this  object,  they  were  still  at  some  distance  when  the 
battle  joined.  It  was  in  a  narrow  valley,  about  seven 
miles  from  Toledo,  that  they  paused  at  nightfall  for  a 
brief  rest.  Their  troops  had  been  greatly  wearied  by 
the  rapid  and  continued  travel  of  the  long  day,  and  such 
a  pause  became  absolutely  necessary  to  enable  them  to 
commence  their  march  again  that  night.  It  was  then 
that  they  gained  the  first  intelligence  of  Witiza's  defeat. 
Fugitive  after  fugitive,  each  confirming,  with  some  new 
disaster,  the  story  of  the  preceding,  made  his  appearance 
in  the  camp  of  the  young  princes,  until  the  narrative  of 
misfortune  was  finally  complete,  in  the  appalling  com- 
munication, to  them,  of  the  murder  of  their  father. 
Then  the  elder  brother  burst  into  tears  and  lamentations 
before  his  whole  army,  and  his  heart  sunk  within  him  at 
the  tidings ;  but  Pelayo,  who  was  a  brave  and  fearless 
spirit,  rebuked  this  weakness,  and  spoke  boldly  to  the 
messengers. 

"  Now,  tell  ye  forth  your  story,  ye  that  have  run 
so  fleetly  with  its  burthen.  Halt  ye  not  in  what  ye 
came  for,  but  impart  the  manner  of  the  fight.  Say  out 
the  whole — where  stood  the  king — what  force  brought 
Roderick  on — who  was  the  traitor  lord  that  led  the 
flight,  and  had  no  thought  for  vengeance.  Speak  it  all." 

The  fugitives  then  told  him  what  he  sought,  dwelling 
with  closeness  upon  all  the  events,  until  he  came  to  the 
death  of  the  old  monarch,  when  the  sorrows  of  Egiza, 
the  elder  brother,  burst  forth  afresh. 

"  Now  shame  on  thy  woman  heart !"  cried  the  sterner 
Pelayo  ;  "  thy  tears  were  fitting  were  they  those  of  the 
man,  which  are  blood,  and  not  those  of  the  woman, 
which  are  water.  Go  to — are  we  the  sons  of  Witiza, 
and  shall  we  borrow  a  thought  from  the  child  and  weep  ? 
No,  Egiza — I  have  for  thee  a  better  counsel.  We  shall 
fight.  Let  not  thy  tears  damp  the  brave  hearts  of  the 
warriors  that  follow  us.  Look  battle,  and  send  out  a 


PELAYO.  27 

fierce  cry,  that  we  may  all  gather  strength  for  ven- 
geance." Thus  saying,  he  strove  to  fill  the  soul  of  his 
elder  brother  with  his  own  brave  spirit ;  but  Egiza  took 
greatly  to  heart  the  news  which  he  had  heard. 

"  I  hope  my  father  is  in  heaven,"  cried  Pelayo  to  the 
troops.  "  Mine  is  a  true  charity,  my  friends,  since  I 
would  despatch  after  him  the  traitor  Roderick,  who  sent 
him  there.  So  make  fitting  your  weapons,  and  let  us 
at  once  go  forward  to  avenge  our  friends.  Let  us 
pluck  down  the  rebel  and  do  justice  upon  him,  showing 
ourselves  worthy  in  the  sight  of  our  country." 

And  faintly  the  soldiers  cheered  at  the  speech  of  Pe- 
layo. They  had  been  depressed  by  the  intelligence 
brought  by  the  fugitives  and  looked  not  with  their  former 
spirit.  When  Pelayo  saw  this,  he  rebuked  his  brother. 

"  This  it  is  to  be  a  woman  ;  thy  weakness  has  dashed 
the  spirits  of  thy  men,  and  they  have  grown  feeble  like 
thyself.  Speak  thou  to  them,  and  put  on  the  show  of 
a  valour  which  thou  seem'st  not  now  to  have.  Let 
them  hear  thee,  and,  if  thou  canst,  teach  them  to  have 
souls  fit  for  their  swords,  which  are  of  Toledo." 

Thus,  nobly  encouraging  both  his  brother  and  the 
army,  did  Pelayo  speak.  Moved  by  his  rebuke,  Egiza 
threw  aside  his  sorrows,  and  addressed  the  warriors 
manfully,  as  became  the  good  stock  from  which  he 
sprang.  But  their  depression  had  been  too  great  from 
the  news  brought  by  the  fugitives,  and,  in  addition  to 
this,  the  emissaries  of  the  rebel  lurked  even  among 
themselves.  The  young  prince  spoke  to  men  who 
were  blinded  or  staggering.  Conscious  of  their  own 
numerical  inferiority,  and  assured  of  the  complete  dis- 
persion of  that  stronger  array  of  the  monarch,  on  the 
junction  with  which  they  had  so  much  relied,they  began 
to  sink  under  the  overwhelming  despondency  which 
these  events  brought  along  with  them.  But  a  few  chiefs 
and  warriors  showed  signs  of  a  true  courage,  and  a  wil- 
lingness to  advance ;  and  these  too  soon  drew  back  when 
they  found  how  feebly  they  were  seconded  by  the  re- 


28  PELAYO. 

mainder  of  the  army.  Even  the  valorous  and  sanguine 
Pelayo  saw  plainly  enough  that  nothing  could  be  hoped 
from  them  in  their  present  condition  of  mind ;  and, 
with  shame  and  sorrow,  he  assented  to  the  necessity 
which  compelled  them  to  fall  back  with  their  force  upon 
the  city  of  Cordova,  where  they  hoped  to  find  support  in 
their  quarrel.  In  this  retreat  their  power  gradually  di- 
minished, until  at  length,  approaching  Cordova,  and 
hearing  that  it  also  had  declared  for  Roderick,  the  two 
unfortunate  princes  now  found  themselves  sustained 
only  by  a  small  band,  chiefly  of  the  nobles,  who  had 
clung  to  them  and  were  true  in  all  seasons.  The  rabble, 
always  fickle  and  uncertain,  had  fled  in  every  direction ; 
some  with  the  fear  of  punishment,  and  some  in  the 
hope  of  reward  from  the  conqueror — so  that  the  policy 
left  for  the  young  princes  was,  simply  to  disband  their 
small,  but  trusty,  remaining  force,  and  wait  for  better 
times.  This  done,  though  they  well  knew  the  danger, 
yet,  as  they  had  many  friends  in  Cordova,  they  approached 
that  city.  Carefully  disguising  themselves,  unattended, 
they  entered  the  city  at  nightfall,  amid  the  sound  of  bar- 
baric music,  and  the  shouts  of  thousands  assembled  to 
glorify  the  annunciation  of  a  new  monarch  over  them — 
he  the  usurper  of  the  throne,  and  the  destroyer  of  one 
whom  they  had  so  lately  professed  to  love  with  a  feeling 
little  short  of  adoration.  Bitterly  cursing  their  insin- 
cerity in  his  heart,  and  musing  upon  the  instability  of 
fortune,  Pelayo  led  the  way  for  his  less  elastic  brother, 
until,  sheltered  by  the  night,  they  entered  unperceived 
into  the  palace  of  their  paternal  uncle,  Lord  Oppas, 
the  Archbishop  of  Cordova.  It  was  then,  at  midnight, 
in  the  dim  seclusion  of  a  secret  chamber,  that  the 
archbishop  held  conference  with  the  young  princes,  his 
nephews,  on  the  best  mode  for  regaining  the  empire  of 
which  they  had  just  been  deprived  by  the  successful 
usurpation  of  Roderick.  The  churchman  and  the  elder 
prince,  Egiza,  the  immediate  heir  to  the  throne,  were 
seated  thus  in  conference,  the  brow  of  the  prince  sad  and 


PELAYO.  29 

thoughtful ;  while  Pelayo,  the  younger,  who  was  of  a 
fiery  and  restless  spirit,  strode,  gloomily  and  impatient, 
to  and  fro  along  the  apartment. 


X. 

"  'Tis  an  evil  day,  my  sons,"  exclaimed  the  archbishop, 
after  they  had  briefly  related  to  him  the  particulars  of  their 
late  mishap,  "  'tis  an  evil  day,  but  it  is  not  all  evil.  We 
have  lost  the  battle,  and,  for  the  time,  our  enemy  is  vic- 
torious. But  cheer  ye  up — all  is  not  lost,  if  we  be  not 
lost  to  ourselves.  Let  us  not  be  downcast — let  us  not 
despair.  'Tis  the  woman's  heart  that  will  not  hope  on 
in  spite  of  denial  and  in  defiance  of  the  misjudging  for- 
tune. 'Tis  not  for  the  strong  man  to  be  shaken  with 
the  sudden  tempests  nor  the  mighty  tree  to  be  cast  down 
like  the  timid  shrub — wherefore,  then,  Egiza,  do  you  thus 
hang  your  head  as  if  it  awaited  the  stroke  of  the  heads- 
man ?  Look  up,  my  son — put  on  the  semblance  of  bat- 
tle ;  and  though  we  hide  our  weapon  for  a  season,  let  us 
have  the  spirit  for  ever  warm  and  ready  within  us  that 
shall  prompt  us  to  its  use." 

While  he  spoke  the  clangour  of  the  oriental  drum, 
mingled  with  the  shrill  notes  of  the  Roman  trumpets, 
and  the  clamours  of  the  multitude,  announced  to  them 
the  exulting  progress  of  Roderick's  faction.  The  finger 
of  Egiza  was  uplifted  as  the  sounds  filled  the  apartment, 
but  he  made  no  other  reply  to  the  encouraging  exhorta- 
tions of  the  archbishop.  The  latter  continued, 

"  'Tis  true — those  clamours  and  that  exulting  trumpet 
tell  us  all — the  throne  is  lost — your  father  slain — (he 
power  departed  to  another  hand,  for  a  season  at  least ; 
but  they  only  tell  us  what  your  own  lips  have  already 
been  free  enough  to  utter.  They  give  us  no  new  cause 
of  apprehension.  They  carry  with  them  no  terrors  to 
heighten  those  of  the  disastrous  field  where  the  sun  of 
C  2 


30  PELAYO. 

Witiza  set  in  blood.  Let  us  not  despond,  and,  above  all, 
despond  not  thou.  Thou  art  the  rightful  heir  to  the 
throne,  and,  if  thou  be'st  a  man,  they  can  only  keep  it  from 
thee  for  a  season.  That  season  over,  and,  by  the  holy 
martyrs  of  Antioch,  I  promise  thee  thou  shall  come  to 
thy  own." 

The  words  of  the  archbishop  aroused  the  youth,  if 
they  did  not  encourage  him.  With  a  deep  sigh  he  an- 
swered— 

"  I  would  hope,  my  uncle — I  would  that  I  could  not 
fear.  But  give  us  better  ground  than  these  empty  words. 
Whence  comes  your  hope — where  are  our  friends,  our 
arms,  our  confidence  ?  We  stand  alone.  The  warriors 
that  followed  us  so  lately  are  all  fled,  and,  by  this  time, 
I  doubt  not,  those  who  fled  not  fill  the  ranks  of  the 
usurper.  The  base  multitude,  forgetting  their  past  fa- 
vours and  the  glories  of  our  race,  shrink  from  the  sides 
of  those  whose  sires  led  them  in  triumph  over  the  neck 
of  Rome,  and  bore  the  banner  of  the  Goth  from  the  Dan- 
ube to  the  Atlantic  Sea.  On  such  as  these  we  may  not 
rely,  and  for  such  as  these  we  should  not  look.  The 
coward  hinds,  though  they  swore  most  trimly  when  the 
foe  was  yet  distant,  had  neither  word  nor  blow  when  he 
approached  us.  They  lingered  not'even  to  behold  him  ; 
and  are  now,  such  as  follow  not  in  his  train,  shut  up  and 
trembling  among  the  caves  of.the  mountains,  without 
the  spirit  of  utterance,  when  a  stout  battle  had  given 
*hem  the  victory  and  me  the  crown  that  I  should  chal- 
lenge but  vainly  now." 

"  They  will  come  with  the  occasion,  my  son,"  replied 
the  archbishop.  "  Their  flight  and  terror  now  are  natu- 
ral enough ;  let  us  not  upbraid  them,  but  content  our- 
selves, as  we  well  know  that  the  unobtrusive  power  (so  or- 
dered by  the  mazy  Providence)  comes  ever  with  the  ne- 
cessity which  demands  its  service.  Let  us  await  its  com- 
ing. 'Tis  not  now  that  we  can  challenge  the  sudden 
growth  of  Roderick,  and  raise  a  party  for  his  overthrow. 


PELAYO.  31 

It  were  madness  to  move  in  such  an  effort.  We  must 
abide  our  time,  watch  patiently  the  season  when  he 
sleeps,  and  when  they  whom  he  oppresses  are  ready  to 
awake  in  a  common  cause  with  our  own." 

"  'Tis  a  long  watch,"  said  Pelayo,  now  for  the  first 
time  joining  in  the  discussion,  "  and  asks  more  patience, 
my  good  uncle,  than  altogether  befits  my  temper.  I  am 
not  in  the  mood  to  wait.  I  have  resolved — ay,  sworn 
by  the  sword  and  by  the  soul  of  my  father — an  awful 
spirit  now  hovering  over  us — to  yield  it  no  such  leisure. 
To-morrow  I  speed  for  the  Asturias.  We  have  some 
friends  there — some  true,  strong-handed  friends  ;  men 
who  lock  not  up  their  anger  in  smooth  discourse,  and 
plead,  even  while  the  foe  plucks  them  by  the  beard,  in 
long,  dull  maxims  of  propriety,  till  the  hot  blood  grows 
cold." 

"You  are  rash,  Pelayo — rash  and  ill-advised,"  ex- 
claimed the  archbishop,  in  tones  more  moderate  than  his 
language.  "  Your  active  and  open  movement,  my  son, 
would  be  fatal  to  our  success.  It  would  take  from  wis- 
dom its  design,  and,  where  a  sober  and  calm  thought 
would  win  the  way,  by  some  hasty  movement  you  were 
sure  to  lose  it.  Hear  to  my  counsel,  son.  We  must  not 
offend  the  uncertain  power  of  the  tyrant,  who  is  not  yet 
easy  in  his  seat.  He  is  jealous  now,  and  watchful,  and 
not  his  own  eyes  merely,  but  a  thousand  others  watch 
for  him,  if  'twere  only  to  buy  his  favour.  We  must 
pause  until  he  ceases  to  fear  from  opposition,  until  his 
eyes  close.  Any  movement  now,  even  if  the  tyrant 
failed  to  arrest  it,  would  only  arouse  him  to  a  closer 
watch,  which  must  keep  off  the  good  day  of  our  deliv- 
erance." 

"  And  how  long  are  we  to  watch  thus,  good  uncle — 
and  where  is  the  better  hope  from  delay  ?  The  reason 
must  <be  strong  to  make  me  sheathe  the  sword.  Did 
they  not  tell  us,  brother,  that  the  blood-streaming  head 
of  my  father  was  stuck  high  upon  the  gates  of  Toledo  V 


32  PELAYO. 

"  There  let  it  remain,"  said  the  archbishop,  coolly ; 
"  and,  for  your  vengeance,  let  it  remain  also.  Know,  my 
son,  that  the  appetite  grows  the  keener  from  the  delay ; 
and  this  knowledge  alone,  were  it  not  our  policy  too, 
should  make  us  deliberate  in  our  movement.  Hear  me, 
Pelayo,  and  hearken  to  my  hope,  which  springs  rather 
from  the  nature  of  this  people  and  this  tyrant  than  the 
particular  strength  of  the  army  we  might  bring  against 
them.  What  is  the  Goth  in  Spain  ?  Rude,  wild,  ever 
bent  for  action,  sickening  with  peace,  yet  swilled  and 
drunken  with  the  sensuality  of  the  Greek.  They  can- 
not bear  long  with  one  like  Roderick,  whose  self-indul- 
gence shall  prove  a  barrier  to  theirs,  offending  them  by 
restraints  which  he  attaches  not  to  his  own  wild  passions. 
What  of  the  Iberian  ?> 

"  He  is  with  us — more  with  us  than  with  Roderick — 
I  too  am  an  Iberian,"  exclaimed  Pelayo. 

"  Ay,  but  he  is  broken  in  spirit — dispersed  and  ill-di- 
rected. Dreading  every  leader  as  a  new  tyrant,  and 
having  but  little  hope  from  any.  Teach  them  to  confide 
in  thee,  and  thou  wilt  do  more  than  Wamba  or  Ervigius." 

"  I  will  do  it !"  said  Pelayo. 

"  Be  it  so — but  thou  canst  not  now,  and  our  better 
hope  is  in  Roderick  himself." 

"  How — what  mean  you,  uncle  ?'  exclaimed  Egiza. 

"  From  his  tyranny  over  Goth,  and  Iberian,  and 
Basque,  and  Jew,  and  all — from  his  fierce  nature  and  his 
jealous  passion.  I  know  him  well,  my  sons.  I  have 
long  known  him,  and  I  well  know  he  cannot  long  please 
the  nobles.  His  lustful  thoughts,  always  passionate 
and  wilful,  wanting  now  the  curb  which  belonged  to  his 
lowlier  station,  and  kept  him  within  due  limits,  will  soon 
work  ruin  for  his  cause  among  their  haughty  leaders. 
Let  him  have  but  little  sway,  and,  my  life  upon  it,  he  will 
make  for  us  a  thousand  partisans  among  his  mpst  fa- 
vourite nobles." 

•'  Speak,  in  what  way,  sir?'  said  Egiza. 


PELA1TO.  33 

"In  a  thousand  ways,  my  son,  and  each  of  them 
helping  on  to  our  purpose.  He  is  voluptuous  as  the 
Moor ;  and,  now  that  he  is  sovereign,  will  not  pause,  like 
him,  to  satisfy  his  fierce  passions  at  every  risk.  Some 
damsel  of  the  court  shall  catch  his  eye,  and  he  will 
straight  assay  her  as  a  prince  having  power  to  take  his 
will.  With  his  blood  roused,  it  will  not  be  her  plea  or 
the  Lord's  prayer  that  shall  make  him  give  over  his  pur- 
pose. He  will  on,  though  maidenhood  survive  not  in 
Iberia.  Some  youthful  noble  shall  but  look  awry  upon 
his  amours  or  his  insolence,  and  his  head  pays  for  it,  and 
crowns  a  pikestaff  rather  than  its  own  shoulders.  In 
this  and  a  thousand  other  ways  shall  he  offend  the  people 
and  make  us  friends ;  and,  as  we  are  better  secure  of 
this  than  of  any  open  movement,  we  gather  by  delay." 

"  No  delay  for  me  !"  exclaimed  Pelayo,  abruptly. 

««  How,  brother !"  said  Egiza. 

**  How !"  responded  the  former ;  "  wherefore  ask  me 
ho  w  ?  What  see  you  in  this  argument  of  the  Lord  Oppas 
to  stead  you  by  delay  ?  I  see  nothing.  Roderick  may 
be  lustful  and  insolent,  or  not — he  may  make  enemies 
or  not  among  his  followers ;  but  how  does  this  affect 
either  our  rights  or  duties  ?  I  see  not.  I  know  that 
my  king  has  been  deposed — my  father  has  been  slain — 
and  that  a  tyrant  rides  in  his  place.  The  sacred  per- 
son which  we  have  honoured  has  been  hacked  by  rebel- 
lious swords — his  reverend  head,  which,  until  this  evil 
time,  they  had  never  beheld  but  with  downfalling  eye 
and  bending  reverence,  by  this  usurper  has  been  stricken 
from  the  bleeding  trunk,  and  set  on  high  for  the  Arabian 
vultures — " 

*•  But,  my  son — Pelayo,"  said  the  archbishop,  seek- 
ing to  interrupt  the  vehement  youth ;  but  he  continued 
thus — 

"  If  you  have  patience,  brother,  such  as  our  uncle 
counsels,  be  it  so.  I  am  of  different  temper.  I  am 
not  pleased  to  listen  to  such  laggard  hope  as  prates  for 


34  PELAYO. 

ever  of  pause  and  patience,  of  what  may  chance  to-mor- 
row, and  what  not — waiting  for  opportunity  to  do  its  duty, 
which  the  honest  and  fearless  mind  should  ever  carve 
out  for  itself.  You  can  stay  listen,  if  so  it  please,  to  the 
lord  bishop.  His  preachings  shall  persuade  you,  I 
doubt  not,  to  a  most  easy  duty.  For  my  part,  I  must 
seek  me  out  a  wilder  tutor  in  the  Asturias,  and  content 
me  with  a  philosophy  which,  if  less  musical,  shall,  at 
least,  be  much  more  manly." 

44  Truly,  Pelayo,  for  a  younger  brother,  you  have  but 
a  slight  cast  of  humility  in  your  deportment.  But  I  for- 
give you.  Your  rebuke  is  scarcely  merited.  It  is  my 
will  to  avenge  the  fate  of  our  father,  not  less,  I  trust  me, 
than  it  is  yours  ;  and  I  pledge  myself  to  you  to  that 
purpose,  as  solemnly  now  as  erewhile  I  pledged  myself 
to  his  shade.  But  I  seek  not  to  strike  till  1  can  strike 
hopefully.  Not  to  strike  fatally  were  ruinously  to  risk 
our  object ;  and  it  is  in  this  that  the  reason  of  our  uncle 
lies.  His  words  are  wisdom,  and  should  control  our 
thought.  We  do  not  yield  our  purpose  when  we  delay 
it ;  we  rather  give  it  strength,  and  reduce  to  a  measured 
certainty  that  which  in  your  movement  might  well  be 
declared  madness." 

The  archbishop  now  approached  Pelayo,  and  putting 
his  hand  affectionately  upon  his  shoulder,  thus  urged  him 
to  a  temporary  pause  in  his  contemplated  journey. 

"  Hear  me  a  moment,  son ;  the  delay  I  ask  is  but  a 
brief  one.  I  have  some  friends  who  make  our  cause 
their  own.  They  meet  with  me  to-morrow  night. 
Wait  patiently  till  then.  There  will  be  little  loss  of 
time,  and  none  to  make  serious  concern.  Be  thou 
there ;  hearken  their  counsel,  and,  when  we  have  all 
conferred  together,  we  may  then  more  wisely  determine 
upon  our  common  course  hereafter." 

"  This  is  right,  brother,"  said  Egiza  ;  "  the  counsel 
of  our  uncle  is  good.  Be  not  distrustful,  I  pray  you. 


PELAYO.  35 

Let  us  listen  to  the  wisdom  of  age,  and  grow  wiser  in 
our  own  purposes,  as  we  needs  must." 

But  this  suggestion  did  not  seem  to  strike  Pelayo 
with  the  emphasis  with  which  his  brother  gave  it  utter- 
ance. He  replied  with  increased  impatience. 

"  I  am  no  child,  Egiza,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  why,  then, 
talk  to  me  of  age  ?  If  that  the  aged  have  more  wisdom, 
they  also  have  greater  caution  ;  and,  in  time  of  civil  war 
and  strife,  caution  is  a  quality  which  shows  too  much 
like  cowardice  to  be  altogether  grateful  to  Pelayo.  The 
aged,  indeed !  What,  I  pray  you,  have  the  aged  to  do 
with  those  who  feel  ?  I'm  wronged — I  feel  my  wrong. 
My  heart,  that  bleeds  for  love  of  a  dear  father,  impels 
me  to  my  purpose.  What  need  I  of  other  lesson  ?' 

"  Much  need,  my  son,"  replied  the  archbishop. 
'*  The  heart  does  well  to  maintain  its  feelings  truly,  but 
the  head  must  guide  them  wisely,  or  they  must  ever  err. 
Hear  me  still  farther,  Pelayo.  I  have  a  plan  of  counsel 
with  Count  Julian  of  Consuegra,  and  certain  arguments 
which,  I  trust  me,  shall  move  him  to  our  cause.  He 
was  the  favourite  once,  and  for  a  long  season  the  fol- 
lower of  your  father.  He  thinks,  most  surely,  with  us, 
and  did  counsel  many  adversely  to  Roderick  who  yet 
maintained  his  faction." 

"  A  stale  soldier !  Why,  then,  kept  he  aloof  from 
action  ?  Why  drew  he  no  weapon  against  the  rebel  ?" 
demanded  Pelayo. 

44  The  wiser,  perhaps,  for  his  forbearance,  my  son, 
since,  as  events  have  shown,  his  labours  must  have  been 
unavailing.  He  kept  a  neutral  station — " 

44  And  thus  joined  the  rebels.  Avoid  him,  say  I. 
Wherefore  give  confidence  to  him  who  neither  helps  his 
friend  nor  strikes  his  foe  ?  We'll  none  of  him,  I  think," 

44  Nay,  Pelayo,  but  we  must,"  said  the  archbishop. 
44  He  has  but  late  come  from  Tingitania,  and  has  no 
part  in  the  conflict,  and  but  little  knowledge,  as  yet,  of 
the  condition  of  the  realm.  We'll  seek  him  out  at  once. 


86  PELAYO. 

Hard  by  is  his  castle,  where  he  seeks  present  repose 
with  his  fair  daughter  Cava.  Let  us  find  him  soon, 
and,  by  early  speech,  secure  him  for  our  cause.  'Tis 
a  battle  gained.  All  the  troops  love  him  in  Ceuta ;  and 
be  it  known  that  he  is  with  us,  a  goodly  army  follows/' 

"  And  thinkst  thou,"  demanded  Pelayo,  "  that  he  will 
listen  to  our  argument  when  he  left  our  father  to  his 
fate?  Methinks,  good  uncle,  this  is  a  most  wanton 
hope,  if,  in  truth,  thou  feelst  it." 

"  The  case  is  not  the  same,"  replied  the  archbishop, 
quickly  ;  "  thou  shouldst  remember  that  Julian  has  had 
separate  and  remote  command  in  Africa,  having  a  force 
to  govern  and  a  duty  to  perform  making  him  foreign,  as 
it  were,  to  our  internal  strife.  The  African  had  made 
bold  with  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  but  for  the  close  watch 
of  Julian  upon  him.  When  the  strait  of  Witiza  came  to 
his  ears  it  was  too  late  to  serve  him.  Did  he  know — 
did  any  of  us  know  that  the  peril  was  so  instant ;  that 
rebellion  had  grown  so  insolent  and  commanding,  to 
grapple  with  the  sceptre  in  one  night,  and  strike  down 
its  high  sovereign  in  an  hour  ?  Whatever  had  been  his 
faith,  submission  to  the  usurper  whom  he  could  not  over- 
come was  wisdom ;  and  Julian  has  submitted  to  the  re- 
bellion only  as  it  has  been  successful.  Let  but  the  peo- 
ple murmur ;  let  them  but  look  their  discontent,  and 
Julian,  whom  we  shall  now  secretly  secure,  will  strike 
with  us,  and  for  our  cause." 

".And  with  this  shadowy  hope,"  said  Pelayo,  "this 
pause  for  the  rascal  discontent,  we  must  go  sleep  and 
drowse,  without  dreaming,  if  we  can,  of  the  rusted  weap- 
ons by  our  side,  and  the  heavy  tread  of  the  usurper 
above  us.  This  is  but  another  of  thy  texts,  good  uncle, 
which  teach  delay." 

"  Even  so,  my  son ;  and  the  delay  is  wise  which  all 
texts  incline  to  teach.  We  must  wait  for  another  and 
yet  another  day,  since  it  were  madness  now,  in  the  face 
of  the  successful  rebel,  to  attempt  the  struggle  for  his 


PELAYO.  37 

overthrow.  But,  though  I  counsel  delay,  I  counsel  no 
relaxation  of  our  purpose.  I  but  require  that  we  should 
wait  a  fitting  time,  and  I  promise  that  we  shall  not  wait 
for  it  in  vain.  The  hour  of  hopeful  circumstance  will 
come,  and,  if  we  are  ready  then,  clothed  in  our  armour, 
watchful,  we  shall  strike  home,  even  to  the  heart  of  our 
enemy,  and  make  our  fortune  certain.  Any  effort  now 
would  keep  back  the  hour,  and  bring  sure  defeat  upon 
our  purpose.  This  is  reason,  son — wisdom  speaks 
thus,  Pelayo,  and  she  counsels  you,  even  as  I  do  now, 
to  patience.  Hearken  her  counsels,  Pelayo,  and  do  no- 
thing rashly  which  shall  prejudice  thy  brother's  cause  or 
thine  own." 

"  Methinks,  good  uncle,  you  do  wisdom  grievous  in- 
justice when  you  fill  her  mouth  with  counsels  she  were 
loath  to  utter  of  her  own  head.  Is't  wisdom,  think  you, 
that  hath  the  trick,  even  ere  the  morning  begins,  of 
brooding  on  patience  under  all  privation,  and  counsel- 
ling the  humblest  submission  to  all  manner  of  wrong  ? 
You  mistake  her,  uncle,  or  I  know  her  not.  Is  it  she 
who  pleads  through  the  long  day  and  the  longer  night — 
a  most  patient  and  most  needless  plea — still  for  the  boon 
of  patience  1  who  puts  off  all  duties  for  her  prayers — a 
priestly  practice  in  faith,  if  not  a  wise  one — and  learns 
one  lesson  only  to  the  grievous  exclusion  of  a  thousand 
better  V9 

"  Thou  dost  mistake,  Pelayo,"  exclaimed  Egiza ; 
44  thou  dost  wrong  our  uncle's  argument." 

"  Ay,  do  I,  then  ?  Well,  I  will  phrase  it  more  seem- 
ingly. Is't  her  voice  that,  when  the  heart  beats  with  its 
wrongs,  implores  it  to  bear  its  burden,  complain,  turn 
humbly  to  the  stripe-giver — ay,  solicit  newer  strokes — 
when,  with  a  single  impulse  of  honourable  wrath,  it 
might  avoid  the  tyranny,  avert  the  scourge,  and,  giving 
weapons  to  the  arms  that  lately  bore  but  a  mule's  bur- 
den, destroy  the  cruel  oppressor,  and  break  his  rule  for 
ever  ?  This  is  thy  wisdom,  uncle,  but  not  mine.  Thou 

VOL.  I.— D 


38  PELAYO. 

hast  ever  ready  thy  lessons  of  patience  and  forbear- 
ance which  I  love  not.  They  better  suit  the  mule  than 
the  man.  They  will  do  nothing  for  the  cause  of  our 
country,  or,  as  thou  hast  it,  my  brother's  cause  and 


mine." 


The  archbishop  paced  the  room  angrily  while  Pelayo 
spoke.  When  the  latter  had  finished  he  approached 
him,  and  replied  in  words  and  with  a  manner  which 
sufficiently  denoted  the  roused  temper  of  his  mind. 

"  Foolish  boy,  still  wayward  and  impetuous  as  thou 
hast  ever  been  from  thy  childhood,  but  that  I  would  have 
this  cause  to  prosper,  I  would  leave  thee  to  play  at  thy 
own  pastime  with  it  till  it  drew  down  ruin  upon  thee. 
"What  wouldst  thou,  or  what  canst  thou  do  of  thyself 
which  would  avail  to  bring  thee  a  step  nearer  to  thy  re- 
venge, or  thy  brother  to  the  throne  of  Witiza  ?  What 
if  thou  didst  rouse  up  thy  Asturian  people  into  prema- 
ture action,  they  could  help  thee  only  to  a  sight  of  the 
foe,  which  their  unaided  weapons  could  never  overcome. 
If  the  Asturians  are  brave,  they  are  also  savages ;  and 
mere  brute  valour  would  do  little  against  the  practised 
arms  and  superior  aid  which  Roderick  will  now  bring 
with  him  to  battle.  Our  hope  now  is  in  wile  and  strat- 
egy. Thou  hast  said  well  when  thou  saidst  that  the 
part  which  I  counselled  thee  was  that  of  the  mule  rather 
than  the  man.  That,  indeed,  is  the  part  we  shall  play 
for  a  season.  We  must  bear  with  the  heavy  burden  of 
our  wrongs ;  go  forward  with  dull  pace  of  the  uncon- 
scious brute,  until  we  feel  the  reins  of  the  rider  slacken 
upon  our  neck  and  the  steel  relax  within  our  jaws.  The 
same  policy,  then,  which  taught  us,  while  our  rider  was 
awake  and  watchful,  to  submit,  will  teach  us  now,  when  he 
sleeps,  to  resist — throw  off  our  burden,  and  trample  with 
our  heavy  heel  the  head  of  him  who  has  bestridden  us. 
By  the  mule-seeming,  only,  shall  we  delude  our  tyrant, 
and  persuade  him  to  the  lulling  security  in  which  we 
shall  destroy  him.  Yet  may  we  toil,  meanwhile,  for  our- 


PELAYO.  39 

selves.  I  counsel  not  lethargy  when  I  counsel  caution 
and  forbearance." 

"  Cross  counsels,  uncle.  If  we  are  to  have  no  blows, 
in  what  shall  we  labour  ?"  demanded  Pelayo. 

«•  By  art,  which  supplies  to  the  weak  in  arms  the  ally 
which  shall  make  them  able  against  the  strong.  We 
have  many  modes  of  action,  though  we  lift  no  banner 
against  the  usurper  now.  We  must  win  over  the  nobles 
secretly,  such  as  we  deem  to  favour  us  ;  such  as  the  ty- 
rant may  offend ;  such  as  were  the  best  friends  of  your 
father ;  and  such  as  may,  from  phlegm  or  deliberation, 
have  kept  themselves  neutral  in  the  strife  just  ended. 
With  this  object  would  I  go  to  Count  Julian,  who  is  the 
best  able  to  serve  us  of  any  officer  in  Spain." 

To  these  arguments  of  Oppas,  Egiza  added  others  not 
less  urgent,  together  with  his  own  prayer  that  his  brother 
might  not  prejudice  their  cause  by  any  unnecessary  and 
injurious  precipitation.  Pelayo  heard  him  with  impa- 
tience, but  replied  thus. 

"  Have  it  as  you  will.  You  shall  not  impute  it  to 
my  rashness,  as  you  are  but  too  prone  to  do,  that  I 
strangled  our  purpose  by  quick  movement  or  by  hasty 
deed  of  mine.  I'll  be  the  mule  you  would  have  me, 
and  bear  my  wrongs  and  my  bosom's  grief  as  a  heavy 
weight  that  would  weigh  me  to  the  earth,  but  for  the 
promise  of  the  day  of  vengeance.  I  will  wait  as  pa- 
tiently as  I  may,  but  I  promise  you  I  wait  not  long. 
Let  me  see  you  relax  in  your  labours,  or  fail  in  the  men 
you  look  to  secure,  and  by  Hercules'  awakening,  I  will 
use  my  club,  counsel  how  you  may." 

"'Tis  well,  Pelayo,"  replied  the  archbishop;  " we 
plead  for  nothing  more  than  this.  I  trust  we  shall  wait 
not  long,  though  we  wait  patiently.  I  know  that  Rod- 
erick cannot  long  satisfy  the  imperious  nobles  whom  he 
has  bought  for  the  present  to  his  cause  ;  that  they  must 
fly  from  his  banner,  if  'twere  only  to  escape  from  his  in- 
justice, and  they  will  fly  to  ours  if  'twere  only  from  the 


40  PELAYO. 

love  of  change.  Our  best  hope  is  in  this  ;  and  I  doubt 
not  that  it  must  sufficiently  serve  our  purpose.  And 
now,  Pelayo — Egiza,  my  children — I  pray  you,  embrace 
each  other.  You  have  spoken  impatiently,  and  your 
tones  erewhile  were  ungentle  in  your  mutual  ears.  This 
must  not  be.  Remember,  ye  are  alone  in  your  fortunes, 
and  out  of  the  world's  love  ;  this  were  strong  reason  that 
ye  should  more  than  ever  love  one  another.  Embrace, 
my  children,  forget  the  unkind  words,  and  God's  bles- 
sing be  upon  you." 

"  True,  uncle,"  said  Egiza,  "  we  have  spoken  wildly, 
and  we  should  pray  to  be  forgiven.  Pelayo,  forgive 
me,  as  I  truly  forgive  thee  what  thou  hast  said  in  thy 
impatience ;  this,  indeed,  I  may  the  more  easily  do,  as 
it  would  need  a  word  unknown  to  me  now  to  make  me 
greatly  angered  with  thee.  Give  me  thy  hand,  Pelayo." 

"  Ay — my  hand,  my  heart,  my  sword,  all  that  is  mine, 
Egiza,  so  that  thou  wait  not  too  long  with  this  mule 
purpose,"  was  the  reply  of  Pelayo. 

"  Fear  not,  Pelayo,  and  be  not  suspicious  of  our  faith, 
to  thy  own  pain  and  the  injustice  of  those  who  feel  and 
wish  as  thou  wouldst  have  them.  But  it  is  fitting  that 
ye  sleep  now,  my  sons.  Your  toils  have  been  many, 
and  your  fatigue  must  be  great.  I  will  conduct  you  to 
the  secret  chamber,  where  you  will  lie  in  perfect  safety. 
But,  ere  the  dawn,  you  must  leave  the  city.  You  shall 
wear  the  habits  of  my  household,  that  ye  be  not  discov- 
ered ;  and  in  this  disguise  ye  will  go  with  me  to  the 
castle  of  Count  Julian.  I  know  him  well,  and  will  dis- 
cover his  leaning  ere  I  unfold  to  him  our  purpose. 
This  caution  thou  regardest  with  scorn,  Pelayo — nay,  I 
see  it  in  thine  eyes — but  thou  wilt  yet  have  to  learn,  my 
son,  that  wisdom  requires  such  art  for  her  purpose, 
which  would  fail  by  directness,  and  sometimes  falter 
even  by  the  weight  of  her  armour,  were  she  not  to 
crave  and  keep  such  assistance." 

"Wisdom  call  you   it?"   said  Pelayo,  scornfully. 


PELAYO.  41 

«'  Well — Heaven  help  us  to  right  names,  or  we  are  like 
to  make  sad  mistakes  ere  long.  Wouldst  have  my 
name  for  this  art,  good  uncle  ?" 

"  Ay,  let  us  hear,  Pelayo." 

"  Hypocrisy,  I  call  it,"  was  the  reply ;  "  the  cunning 
of  the  knave  who  dares  not  show  his  purpose,  and  med- 
itates deeds  which  he  fears  to  utter  even  to  the  friendly 
arm  which  shall  help  him  in  their  performance.  These 
are  goodly  lessons  for  mankind  and  morality ;  and  thus 
it  is  that  the  wise  man,  so  called,  tutors  his  scholar 
unto  wrong ;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  father  counsels  his 
son  to  falsehood  ;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  predominant 
and  infallible  priest  trains  the  suppliant  soul  to  an  ever- 
during  damnation.  Go  to  with  thy  philosophy,  good 
uncle,  and  lead  the  way  to  our  chamber.  Thou  wilt 
not  counsel  us  to  patience  and  forbearance  in  the  matter 
of  sleep  which  we  are  to  take." 

With  a  grave  countenance  the  archbishop  listened  to 
the  free  words  of  the  fearless  Pelayo,  and,  without  far- 
ther speech,  led  the  way  to  the  secret  chamber  which 
had  been  assigned  them  in  his  palace  for  repose. 
There,  promising  to  arouse  them  ere  the  dawning,  he 
bestowed  his  blessing  upon  them,  and  left  them  to  those 
slumbers  which  the  fatigues  of  the  day  had  made  abso- 
lutely necessary,  but  which  the  thoughts  and  excitements 
of  their  minds  continued  to  baffle  until  a  late  hour.  It 
seemed  to  them  but  a  few  moments  after  he  had  left 
them  when  the  archbishop  awakened  them  for  their 
morning  journey. 

XL 

A  FEW  leagues  from  Cordova  lay  one  of  the  castles 
of  Count  Julian.  Fortunately  for  the  conspirators  seek- 
ing him,  he  was  even  then  within  its  walls.  In  a  splen- 
did antechamber  they  waited  his  coming,  and  thus  dis- 
coursed among  themselves  prior  to  his  approach ;  Pe- 
D  2 


42  PELAYO. 

layo,  whose  impatience  grew  with  every  moment  of  de- 
lay, being  the  first  to  speak. 

"  'Tis  an  old  saw  :  truth  is  still  a  beggar,  whom  they 
let  feed  as  she  may  without  the  temple.  'Tis  pretence 
only  that  can  force  its  way  within,  since  'tis  pretence 
only  that  keeps  the  entrance." 

"  It  were  little  belter  for  her,  my  son — perhaps  much 
worse — were  she  to  become  bolder.  Hospitality,  at 
least  among  the  Goth,  would  be  apt,  if  she  thrust  her- 
self in  without  command,  to  thrust  her  back  again  over 
the  threshold.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  I  counsel  you 
to  the  mule's  part,  since  any  other  would  be  too  pre- 
sumptuous for  those  who  toil  in  the  cause  of  truth." 

"  And  therefore  would  I  not  counsel  the  patience 
which  is  ever  thy  lesson.  It  is  because  of  this  so  se- 
vere condition  that  the  friends  of  truth  need  to  draw  the 
sword  in  her  favour,  and  pierce  her  way  to  justice." 

"  And  yet  her  cause,  my  son,"  said  the  archbishop, 
"  she  being  the  acknowledged  parent  of  peace,  would 
seem  to  crave  more  forbearance  from  her  worshipper. 
She  may  be  denied,  and  she  may  be  baffled,  my  son ; 
but  know  we  not  from  the  word  that  is  blessed,  as  it  is 
truth's  own,  that  in  time  she  must  be  triumphant  1  The 
very  destiny,  being  at  the  end  of  a  supposed  period, 
would,  of  itself,  counsel  us  to  patience." 

"  Ay,  'tis  our  patience,  uncle,  that  baffles  her  so  long. 
Were  her  friends  but  as  prompt  as  her  enemies,  we 
should  have  but  little  wrong  in  the  world,  and  justice 
would  have  no  judgment-place,  as  she  would  never  need 
to  hear  appeal.  'Tis  in  our  pause  now  that  she  suffers, 
and  every  moment  that  we  linger  adds  a  new  link  to 
her  bonds." 

"  Be  not  rash,  Pelayo,  in  what  thou  sayst  before  Ju- 
lian; I  pray  thee  let  thy  speech  be  modest,  like  thy 
present  fortune.  We  are  too  weak  to  be  bold,  and  can 
offer  but  little  in  temptation  which  should  make  us  con- 
fident of  him  we  seek.  Above  all,  we  too  greatly  need 


PELAYO.  43 

the  aid  of  Julian  to  offend  him  by  precipitate  look  or 
language.  Remember  that  Roderick  is  now  strongly 
seated ;  the  nation  submits  to  his  rule  even  if  it  does 
not  love  it ;  and  so  long  as  the  name  of  the  usurper  is 
new  in  their  ears,  and  so  long  as  he  lavishes  the  treas- 
ure of  your  father,  will  the  rabble  cling  to  his  feet  and 
strive  in  his  behalf.  These  truths  will  press  on  Julian 
as  they  press  on  all  minds  throughout  the  nation ;  and 
it  will  be  only  through  nice  argument  and  liberal  prom- 
ises that  we  shall  be  able  to  win  him  to  our  cause. 
Whatsoever,  then,  you  hear  from  his  lips,  my  son,  I 
pray  you  let  pass ;  say  nothing  that  may  vex  or  startle 
him,  and  I  trust  we  shall  secure  him.  It  will  be  for  me 
to  show  him  the  policy  of  his  action  with  us,  to  note  his 
fears  or  his  feelings,  and  to  meet  them  with  proper  ar- 
gument, which  shall  help  to  bend  them  to  our  purpose." 

"  Short  speeches,  then,  good  uncle,  I  pray  you,  for 
such  has  been  the  practice  of  your  Seville  bishopric 
that,  I  trow,  your  grace  for  festival  and  prayer  for  grace 
do  equally  grow  into  a  sermon." 

The  archbishop  turned  away  from  the  reckless  speak- 
er, while  Egiza  expostulated  with  him. 

"  Nay,  Pelayo,  you  are  too  rude  ;  you  vex  our  uncle 
by  your  timeless  speech." 

"  Oh,  go ;  you  are  as  much  a  priest  as  he,  Egiza, 
though  your  sermons  be  not  quite  so  long.  Let  me 
enjoy  my  humour  after  my  own  fashion,  or  let  me  go 


"  And  better  do  that  than  vex  our  Friends  for  ever 
while  you  wake,"  responded  Egiza  ;  and  he  would  have 
proceeded  farther,  but  the  impatient  Pelayo  arrested  the 
exhortation  in  the  opening. 

"  Enough,  good  elder  brother ;  you  are  the  wiser 
brother  as  the  elder ;  I  yield  to  you.  Enough,  then, 
this  acknowledgment  made,  for  this  brief  season  ;  we'll 
have  time  enough  to  prate  at  another,  when  our  patience 
is  in  full  exercise.  We'll  have  need  of  words  then  to 


44  PELAYO. 

make  up  the  lack  of  action,  and  you  and  our  uncle  will 
do  wisely  to  keep  your  sermons  for  the  day  of  need. 
May  it  be  a  day  of  grace  to  us  all,  for  our  patience  will 
be  perfect  then." 

"  'Tis  much  to  be  hopeful  of  thine,  Pelayo,  for  thy 
stubbornness  grows  upon  thee.  Wherefore  is  it  thus, 
my  son?  Why  wilt  thou  not  list  to  reason?" 

"  There  it  is  again  ;  the  cold-blooded  jade,  misnamed 
Reason  ;  we  shall  have  the  burden-bearer  next,  the  mill 
jade,  the  mule,  Patience." 

"  Be  patient,  brother,"  said  Egiza. 

"I  knew  'twould  come.  Patience  in  thy  speech, 
uncle,  and  my  brother's,  is  as  necessary  an  ingredient 
as  gold  in  all  the  doings  of  the  church.  Thy  exhorta- 
tions to  me  end  with  a  prayer  for  patience,  while  those 
of  the  church  end  with  a  prayer  for  gold.  Were  I  pos- 
sessed of  the  gold,  wouldst  thou  tax  me  for  so  much 
patience  as  thou  dost,  uncle  ?  Alas  for  thy  soul  and 
mine,  I  fear  me  not.  I  should  be  permitted  my  mood, 
of  whatever  make  it  might  be,  could  my  coffers  bear  me 
out  in  the  purchase  of  indulgence." 

"  I  bear  with  thee,  Pelayo,"  said  the  archbishop,  "  in 
love  of  our  dear  brother,  and  because  of  the  duty  which 
is  before  us.  But  have  a  care,  my  son,  the  messenger 
of  Count  Julian  approaches." 

At  that  moment  a  page  entered  the  apartment,  and 
briefly  stated  that  his  master  awaited  them  above,  and 
solicited  their  attendance.  While  he  did  so  his  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  person  of  Pelayo  with  so  much  ear- 
nestness as  to  provoke  the  attention  of  the  latter,  who, 
forgetting  the  disguise  which  he  wore,  in  his  impatience 
thus  addressed  the  slave. 

"  Dost  know  me,  fellow  V9 

The  slave  hesitated,  but  after  a  moment  replied, 

"  It  is  the  Prince  Pelayo." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  archbishop.  Pelayo  coolly 
spoke : 


PELAYO.  4& 

"  Thou  know'st  too  much,  fellow,  for  thy  honesty  or 
my  good  :  but  take  this  gold,  and  preserve  thine  eyes, 
that  they  may  peruse  some  lesson  which  thou  hast  not 
yet  learned.  Go  thy  way." 

The  abashed  page  received  the  piece  of  gold  which 
Pelayo  put  in  his  hand,  and,  without  looking  up  for  an 
instant,  led  the  way  to  his  master.  The  thought  of  Pe- 
layo, meanwhile,  broke  forth  as  they  proceeded. 

"  This  is  one  lesson  of  adversity.  That  fellow's  eyes 
had  guaranty  from  our  misfortune,  and  he  felt  himself 
the  greater  because  his  superior  had  been  somewhat 
humbled.  The  sod-bearer  thus  stares  when  the  clay 
stains  the  gay  cloak  of  the  nobleman,  and  the  water- 
carrier  laughs  aloud  to  behold  the  rents  in  a  prince's 
garment.  Our  kindred  from  the  dust  begin  to  claim 
us,  and  I  am  more  disposed,  good  uncle,  to  look  upon 
thy  rule  as  a  good  one." 

"  What  rule,  Pelayo  V9 

"  The  mule's,  besure ;  the  patience  that  makes  the 
text  and  the  tail  of  thine  and  my  brother's  preachings." 


XII. 


IN  another  apartment  of  his  palace,  more  secure  from 
the  intrusion  of  the  crowd,  Count  Julian  prepared  to  re- 
ceive his  visiters.  Busied  with  his  official  duties,  for  he 
had  just  been  apprized,  by  despatches  from  the  usurper, 
that  he  had  determined  to  continue  him  in  his  public 
station,  he  hurriedly  gave  his  commands  to  several  at- 
tendants in  waiting  as  the  guests  approached  the  cham- 
ber. 

"  Take  these,"  he  said  to  one  of  the  couriers,  "  to 
my  Castle  of  Algeziras  ;  see  that  Count  Astaulph's 
hands  receive  them,  and  await  his  answer.  Bring 
them  with  all  speed,  on  thy  life.  Hence ;  thy  errand 
is  of  worth,  beyond  the  value  of  the  steed  that  bears 


46  PELAYO. 

thee,  ay,  beyond  thy  own.  Spare  neither  in  thy  jour- 
ney. Hence.  These,"  he  said  to  another,  when  the 
first  courier  had  gone,  *'  these  are  for  Merida  ;  seek  for 
the  Lord  Ervigia  ;  let  him  note  their  purpose,  and  haste 
thee  with  his  reply.  They  need  despatch ;  see  that  they 
lack  it  not." 

As  the  courier  passed  from  the  apartment  the  arch- 
bishop and  the  two  princes  entered  it.  Count  Julian 
advanced  to  receive  them  with  friendly  countenance, 
motioned  the  slave  to  withdraw  who  had  shown  them  to 
the  presence,  and  thus  addressed  them. 

"  This  is  a  courtesy,  my  Lord  Oppas,  which  glads 
me,  though  unlocked  for.  And  these  gentlemen1?" 

The  archbishop  replied,  as  they  advanced, 

"  The  princes,  Egiza  and  Pelayo." 

«« Sons  of  the  late  Witiza  ?"  said  the  count ;  the  words 
were  scarcely  uttered  before  the  voice  of  Pelayo  was 
heard — 

"  The  King  Witiza,  sir — the  murdered  King  Witiza  ; 
a  king  murdered  by  subjects — subjects  beholding  it ; 
the  crown  upon  his  head,  the  sceptre  in  his  hand, 
Heaven-anointed,  and  girded  with  all  the  outward  signs 
of  royalty,  as  he  was  endowed  with  all  its  substance 
within.  Such,  sir,  was  the  King  Witiza.  We  are  his 
sons." 

Count  Julian  turned  upon  the  speaker  with  a  counte- 
nance in  which  surprise  was  equally  mingled  with  re- 
spect. 

"  Thou  speakst  truly,  though  somewhat  hastily, 
Prince  Pelayo,"  he  replied,  after  an  instant's  pause. 
"  Truly  was  Witiza  the  king  thou  declarest  him.  I 
meant  no  doubt,  no  denial  in  my  words.  It  were  but 
slack  justice  for  me  to  say  that  he  was  a  most  gracious 
and  a  noble  monarch.  My  honours  came  from  his 
hand,  and  my  first  field  was  battled  beneath  his  eye. 
His  sons  are  welcome." 

The  manner  of  Count  Julian,  as  he  spoke  these  words, 


PELAYO.  47 

was  well  calculated  to  subdue  the  harsher  mood  with 
which  Pelayo  began  the  interview.  It  was  calm,  gentle, 
and  ingenuous.  An  air  of  bland  sincerity  marked  his 
demeanour,  and  won  the  easy  confidence  of  Egiza,  while 
it  encouraged  the  archbishop  to  hope  for  ultimate  success 
from  his  contemplated  application.  But  the  more  pen- 
etrating mind  of  Pelayo  was  less  hopeful,  even  from  the 
first.  He  saw  the  features  of  one  who  was  utterly  un- 
moved ;  whose  impulses  had  been  checked  by  years  ; 
and  whose  desires  were  sufficiently  under  his  own  con- 
trol to  be  governed  and  modified  according  to  the  press 
of  circumstances.  Such  a  man,  high  in  station,  having 
a  large  influence  and  considerable  authority,  was  not 
easily  moved,  he  well  thought,  to  desire  or  to  toil  for 
any  change  which  could  add  nothing  to  his  present  height, 
and  might,  indeed,  subtract  from  his  power.  But  though 
he  thought  thus,  with  more  forbearance  than  was  his 
custom,  he  withheld  the  speech  which  would  have  given 
it  utterance,  and  listened,  without  interruption,  to  the  re- 
ply which  his  uncle  made  to  the  seemingly  hearty  wel- 
come which  Julian  had  given  them. 

"  We  are  indeed  grateful  for  this  courtesy,  Count  Ju- 
lian ;  so  strange  has  it  become  to  these,  now  deserted  of 
all  who  served  them  once,  that  it  hath  a  value  in  itself, 
even  if  it  did  not  promise  something  more  substantial. 
It  is  not  much,  my  lord,  that  a  prince  overthrown  in  bat- 
tle by  a  usurper  may  hope  from  those  who  are  not 
bound  to  him  by  blood  ;  and  the  service  of  such  has  a 
merit  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  man  alike,  as  it  would 
seem  to  be  a  tribute  beyond  the  ordinary  claims  of  duty. 
Your  kindness  to  them  now  must  tax  their  present  ac- 
knowledgment, as,  if  followed  up,  it  should  command 
their  more  honourable  reward." 

"  No  more  of  this,  my  lord  bishop,"  replied  Julian ; 
"  I  know  not  what  you  may  mean  by  the  duties  and  the 
reward  of  which  you  speak  ;  but  it  glads  me,  as  Fve 
said,  to  see  them,  thus  young,  still  manly  and  buoyant 


48  PELAYO. 

in  defiance  of  the  storms  that  have  wrecked  the  fortunes 
of  their  sire." 

"  Not  wrecked,  I  trust,  my  lord,  not  if  there  be  hearts 
in  Spain  that  love  the  memory  of  Witiza,  respect  justice, 
and  are  not  utterly  ungrateful  for  the  blessings,  general 
and  individual,  which  his  sway  distributed  over  the  land. 
It  were  grievous  wrong  to  the  brave  nobles  of  Iberia, 
who  owe  so  much  to  King  Witiza,  were  we  now  to  think 
they  could  utterly  desert  the  cause  of  his  sons.  There 
must  be  hope  from  them  when  the  first  pressure  of  the 
storm  is  past.  They  will  not  always  submit  to  the 
usurpation  which  is  now  triumphant  for  the  time.  They 
will  take  up  the  cause  of  the  Prince  Egiza  as  their  own, 
and  with  this  hope  have  we  now  come  to  speak  with 
Count  Julian." 

"  With  what  end  ?"  demanded  Count  Julian,  looking 
gravely. 

"  That  question  answers  all  !"  exclaimed  Pelayo, 
with  his  accustomed  impetuosity  ;  "  let  us  begone,  my 
brother,  let  us  begone.  We  have  no  farther  business 
here  ;  and  well  may  our  noble  host  demand  with  what 
end  we  came." 

"  Brother,  you  are  mad !"  exclaimed  Egiza,  vainly 
endeavouring  to  sooth  the  irritable  youth,  whom  he  led 
aside  to  a  remote  part  of  the  chamber,  leaving  Oppas 
and  Julian  still  in  conference.  But  the  words  of  Pelayo 
were  still  sternly  free  ;  and  there  was  no  yielding  concili- 
ation in  the  tones  such  as  Egiza  prayed  for. 

44  Oh,  yes !"  he  replied,  4<  it  is  madness,  and  little 
else,  to  feel  that  we  are  wronged  and  robbed,  and  yet 
complain  of  desertion  by  those  who  should  be  true  ; 
men  that  we  have  raised  from  dust  and  dregs  until  they 
grew  strong  to  reject  the  hand  that  supports,  and  base 
enough  to  forget  the  favour  which  has  uplifted  them. 
It  is  madness,  I  know,  but  it  is  a  natural  madness,  and 
is  not  an  effect  beyond  a  proper  cause." 

"  Wherefore  this  coil,  my  lord  bishop?"  demanded 
Julian  of  his  companion. 


PELAYO.  49 

u  Nay,  it  is  nothing,  count ;  it  will  soon  be  over.  A 
feverish  blood,  recent  strife,  and  the  painful  overthrow 
of  his  father — these  have  vexed  him.  He  is  impatient 
— nothing  more," 

<*  Impatient !  nothing  more  !"  exclaimed  Pelayo, 
scornfully,  as  these  last  words  of  the  archbishop,  though 
spoke  in  low  and  subdued  tones,  came  to  his  ears.  Egi- 
za  anxiously  caught  his  arm,  and,  fearing  some  more  vi- 
olent burst  of  utterance  from  his  lips,  led  him  to  the  far- 
thest end  of  the  apartment,  and  thus  earnestly  expostu- 
lated with  him. 

••  Wherefore  wilt  thou  do  thus,  Pelayo  ?  Thou  wilt 
spoil  every  thing^with  thy  rashness.  If  thou  art  reckless 
of  thy  own  hope,  be  not  regardless  of  mine.  Remem- 
ber that  I  am  the  rightful  sovereign,  and  what  thy  impa- 
tience may  lose  will  be  my  loss  rather  than  thine.  Come 
not,  I  pray  you,  between  us  and  the  narrow  point  to 
which  we  aim,  nor  mar  by  an  idle  word  what  thou  canst 
never  mend  by  thy  weapon." 

"  Pshaw !  thou  talkst  idly  and  madly,  Egiza,  though 
thy  tones  be  far  more  temperate  than  mine.  Thou 
mayst  deceive  thyself,  and  thou  dost,  but  thou  canst  not 
deceive  me.  What  hope  hast  thou  from  the  warrior  who 
demands  of  his  prince — his  prince  overthrown  by  a  rebel 
— wherefore  he  seeks  him  ?  The  cold  question  were 
enough,  did  it  not  prove  the  lacking  thought  and  the  base 
spirit." 

"  But  you  mistake,  Pelayo — " 

"  Well,  I  mistake,  then — and  you — do  not.  We  shall 
see.  Go,  humble  as  you  please,  to  your  servant.  Im- 
plore from  him  the  succour  which  you  should  command 
and  he  proffer.  I  shall  say  nothing.  Yet  hearken  me 
ere  you  go." 

"  What  would  you,  brother  ?" 

44  Be  patient,  an  it  please  you.  Look  soberly,  with 
a  downcast  eye,  and  let  your  words  be  sweet  and  slen- 
der, and  speak  them  with  a  modest  voice,  as  if  uncertain 

VOL.  I — E 


50  PELAYO. 

what  grace  they  may  find  in  the  ears  of  him  to  whom 
you    offer   them." 

Thus  speaking  together,  the  two  once  more  ap- 
proached the  spot  where  Julian  and  Oppas  had  been  all 
this  while  in  close  conference.  The  latter  had  been  in 
no  wise  sparing  of  arguments  and  promises  to  effect  his 
purpose  with  the  former.  It  may  be  added  that  he  had 
been  much  less  successful  than  his  earnestness  in  argu- 
ment, the  warmth  of  his  promises,  and  the  justice  of  his 
cause  would  have  seemed  to  promise.  The  confirma- 
tion by  the  usurper  Roderick  of  the  military  and  high 
appointment  which  his  predecessor  had  conferred  on  Ju- 
lian had  alone  defeated  the  hope  of  the  archbishop,  even 
if  Julian  had  been  lacking  in  other  reasons.  The  for- 
mer did  not  abate  his  zeal,  however,  as  he  found  the  lat- 
ter cold.  He  proceeded  thus  in  the  discussion,  which, 
we  may  premise,  was  scarcely  conducted  with  logical 
precision  on  either  hand  at  a  period  when  the  laws  of 
succession  and  divine  right  were  so  commonly  inter- 
rupted and  broken  by  the  custom,  borrowed  from  the  last 
days  of  Roman  greatness,  of  electing  by  the  military. 
Roderick's  best  title  came  from  this  source,  and  it  was 
the  policy  of  Oppas  to  argue  only  from  what  he  assumed 
to  be  the  legitimate  origin  of  power. 

"  But,  my  Lord  Julian,"  he  continued,  "  if  the  claim 
of  Wamba  to  the  throne  be  doubtful,  what  better  claim 
is  that  of  this  son  of  Theodofred  ?  Wherefore  should 
Roderick  have  sway  over  one  holding  a  more  perfect  right 
than  ever  did  the  mighty  Wamba  ?  The  title  of  Witiza 
comes  down  purely  and  without  interruption  from  Recared 
the  Great ;  and  that  of  Egiza  is  not  less  certain.  How, 
then,  shall  we  pause  for  judgment  between  the  usurper 
upon  the  throne  and  him  who  now  claims  your  succour 
for  its  attainment  ?" 

The  archbishop  was  earnest,  but  Julian  was  col- 
lected. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  replied,  "  that  the  blood  of  Witiza,  the 


PELAYO.  51 

father  of  these  noble  youths,  comes  from  the  heart  of  Re- 
cared  the  Great ;  but  even  this  gives  them  no  title  to  the 
crown.  You  startle,  but  I  speak  the  truth." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Oppas ;  "  but  this  makes  wide  dis- 
agreement between  us.  How  prove  you  the  truth 
thus  ?" 

"  A  word  will  do  it,  my  lord  bishop ;  for,  by  the 
Gothic  law,  it  was  not  in  Recared  to  convey  the  crown, 
even  though  his  blood  might  move  him  to  the  desire ; 
and  quite  as  little  is  the  right  to  challenge  it  by  his  suc- 
cessor. He  himself,  yea,  all  of  his  successors,  took 
their  rule  from  the  National  Council.  The  popular  as- 
sembly decreed  and  determined  the  election.  They 
have  ever  had  this  office ;  and  the  same  power  hath 
raised  Roderick  on  the  shield  in  the  presence  of  the  ar- 
my and  commanded  our  obedience.  On  what  plea 
shall  we  refuse  it,  then,  and  how  sustain  our  opposition 
to  the  law,  which  has  had  the  voice  of  the  whole  nation 
in  its  favour  1" 

The  archbishop  hesitated  for  an  answer,  but  Pelayo 
did  not.  He  had  so  far  listened  patiently  to  the  argu- 
ments, but  the  last  words  of  Count  Julian  annoyed  him, 
and  he  spoke  with  instant  readiness. 

"  The  whole  nation,  my  lord  ? — not  half  of  it.  And 
who  were  they  that  spoke  ?  It  was  not  the  army  of  the 
Gothic  or  of  the  Iberian  people,  but  of  the  usurper,  that 
raised  him  upon  the  shield.  An  army  of  ruffians — crea- 
tures drawn  from  the  prisons — thieving  Greeks  from  the 
market-place,  and  such  worthless  nobles  and  citizens  as 
had  been  banished  in  the  previous  reign  of  my  father. 
These  are  they — banished  brawlers,  hireling  soldiers, 
and  swilled  retainers — who  assume  to  themselves  the 
voice  of  the  nation.  It  were  a  sin  and  shame  if  Roman 
nobles  gave  place  to  such  authority;  bow  when  they 
nod,  and  whom  they  elevate  cry  sovereign,  and  make 
sacred  from  assault.  Shame  on  such  thought,  I  say ; 


52  PELAYO. 

but  I  forget — I  should  be  silent  here — patient,  sweet 
brother — is  not  that  the  word  1" 

"  Foolish  boy !"  said  Oppas,  grasping  the  arm  of  Pe- 
layo,  and  whispering  the  emphatic  adjuration  in  his  ear ; 
"  foolish  boy !  will  nothing  hold  you  bound — can  you 
not  keep  your  counsel  in  quiet  for  a  while,  and  let  us  la- 
bour who  would  still  hope  ?" 

The  effort  to  suppress  the  speaker  had  a  contrary  ef- 
fect. He  broke  from  the  grasp  of  the  archbishop,  and, 
with  a  voice  rising  with  his  movement,  he  advanced  to- 
wards Julian,  speaking,  while  he  did  so,  with  terrible 
emphasis. 

"  No,  I  must  speak,  my  Lord  Oppas,  though  we  de- 
spair. Hear  me,  sir  count,"  he  continued,  now  address- 
ing Julian  ;  "  hear  me,  I  pray  you,  and  impute  it  rather 
to  the  feelings  of  justice  in  my  heart  than  to  the  presump- 
tion of  my  youth  that  I  am  thus  confident  while  I  de- 
mand your  ear." 

Julian  bowed  his  head  with  grave  respect,  and  the 
youth  proceeded  thus  abruptly — 

«'  'Tis  not  for  a  warrior  such  as  you  have  been,  such 
as  you  are,  sir  count,  to  assume  the  office  of  the  school- 
man, and,  ere  you  draw  sword  and  lift  banner,  deliberate 
nicely  upon  the  right  of  him  who  calls  upon  you  for  the 
service  which  it  has  been  your  wont  to  yield.  To  the 
true  man  it  matters  but  little  who  should  be  present  king 
and  who  should  not.  The  laws  'change  daily  with  the 
moods  of  those  who  make  them,  and  the  true  warrior 
may  not  hold  by  these.  He  must  seek  other  standards 
for  his  guidance,  and — thank  Heaven  that  it  is  so ! — 
even  as  he  seeks  shall  he  find  them.  They  are  in  his 
heart ;  they  come  from  God ;  they  grow  out  of  warm 
and  honourable  impulse,  and  suffer  no  cold  interest  to 
come  between  them  and  the  duty  which  they  owe  and 
the  service  which  they  have  pledged.  These  teach  us 
never  to  desert  our  friend  in  peril ;  never  to  shrink  from 
our  foe  in  fear ;  to  hold  fast  the  right,  even  as  we  de- 


PELAYO.  53 

termine  it  upon  the  first  movement  of  our  thoughts  and 
feelings,  without  that  delay  of  the  trader,  who  makes  it 
a  thing  of  prudential  and  profitable  calculation.  Ay, 
more.  These  standards  teach  us,  farther,  in  the  cause 
of  our  country  to  sacrifice  friend,  self,  and  all — all  that 
we  honour,  all  that  we  love  and  would  cherish,  in  the 
field  of  battle,  at  the  flame,  and  upon  the  cross,  if  need 
be,  and  to  glory  in  the  prized  things  which  we  so  yield 
in  compliance  with  the  nobler  promotings  of  our  hearts. 
Surely,  Count  Julian,  these  standards  of  the  heart  are 
thine.  It  cannot  be  otherwise  with  the  gallant  warrior. 
If 't  be  that  they  are,  they  call  for  but  little  argument  from 
my  good  uncle  here,  and  still  less  from  me,  to  move  you 
in  our  battle.  They  must  enjoin  that,  as  my  father  held 
your  faith,  it  is  your  duty  to  maintain  his  right ;  that,  as 
my  father  held  your  friendship,  it  is  your  duty  to  avenge 
his  murder ;  that,  as  my  father  was  the  unquestioned 
sovereign  of  the  Goth,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  Gothic  noble, 
pledged  to  him  in  faith,  in  friendship,  and  no  less  bound 
to  his  country,  to  punish  the  rebel  who  hath  slain  his 
sovereign  and  usurped  the  rule  which  he  bore  so  wor- 
thily. These  are  my  thoughts,  Count  Julian,  my  free 
thoughts ;  I  fear  not  to  sustain  them.  It  is  not  wise, 
perhaps,  to  speak  so  bold,  and  were  more  prudent,  in 
the  world's  esteem,  for  one  so  free-spoken  as  myself  to 
have  said  naught ;  but  I  hold,  you  to  be  a  warrior,  Count 
Julian,  and  I  have  faith  in  the  honour  of  a  warrior.  I 
fear  not,  therefore,  to  offend  you  in  what  I  have  said  ; 
and  yet — do  me  justice.  If  there  be  right  and  reason 
in  this  plea  of  mine,  my  brother  here,  having  the  birth- 
right, has  the  benefit.  Give  him  thy  weapon,  Count 
Julian  ;  I  plead  for  no  service  to  myself." 

It  may  be  supposed  that  a  speech  so  daring,  so  full 
of  defiance,  and  so  pregnant  with  assertion,  if  not  truth, 
was  well  adapted  to  startle,  if  not  to  change  the  resolu- 
tion of  Count  Julian.     He  paced  the  room  for  an  instant 
E  2 


54  PELAYO. 

before  replying,  and  his  face  was  full  of  thought  when 
he  returned  to  speak. 

'*  There  is  matter  in  what  thou  sayst,  Prince  Pelayo, 
which  may  well  task  the  thought,  if  not  the  weapon  of  one 
who  was  a  soldier,  and,  let  me  add,  a  true  one,  while  he 
lived,  of  the  late  monarch.  Perchance,  had  it  been 
practicable  for  me  to  have  moved  in  his  battle  before  he 
perished,  your  speech  had  been  unnecessary  now.  I 
must  think  on  what  thou  hast  boldly,  but  not  unwisely 
spoken.  At  present  let  us  stay  this  discourse.  My 
daughter  approaches  to  bid  us  to  the  board." 


XIII. 

Now  the  Lady  Cava  was  the  loveliest  lady  in  all 
Spain  ;  the  only  child  of  her  father,  whose  affection 
placed  her  above  all  estimate  in  his  idolatrous  regard. 
She  was  little  more  than  sixteen,  and  of  a  beauty  that 
did  not  the  less  continue  to  charm  because  it  was  so 
sudden  and  so  sure  to  captivate.  Yet,  to  this  time,  had 
she  little  homage  from  the  young  gallants  of  the  day, 
for  she  had  dwelt  with  her  father  in  seclusion.  Here 
he  had  studiously  maintained  her,  as  he  too  well  knew 
the  dissolute  character  of  the  court  of  Toledo  to  intrust 
her  there  in  his  absence.  Loving  him,  as  she  did,  with 
a  warmth  of  regard  corresponding  to  his  own,  this  seclu- 
sion had  not  brought  with  it  a  solitary  feeling  of  priva- 
tion or  regret ;  and  in  the  valley,  overhung  with  high 
mountains,  in  which  she  dwelt  usually,  or  in  the  frontier 
castle  of  her  father  at  Algeziras,  where,  with  his  force, 
he  watched  the  insolent  Saracens,  she  still  found  it  a 
sufficient  pleasure  to  be  alone  in  the  company  of  a 
gentle  heart  and  a  lively  fancy,  both  of  which  were 
truly  her  own.  It  was  a*  new  feeling  that  came  to  the 
scarcely  less  youthful  bosom  of  the  susceptible  Egiza 
as  he  looked  upon  her.  His  cheeks  were  flushed,  his 


PELAYO.  55 

eye  sunk  yet  kindled,  and  his  bosom  heaved  with  emo- 
tions which  he  had  never  known  before.  While  he 
gazed  upon  her  he  forgot  the  purpose  on  which  he 
sought  her  father ;  he  forgot  the  memory  of  his  own ; 
he  forgot  all  things  in  the  new  and  absorbing  passion 
which,  like  sudden  electricity  from  heaven,  penetrated 
his  bosom,  and  deprived  him  of  every  consciousness 
save  of  its  own  consuming  fire. 

"  By  your  leave,  sweet  Lady  Cava,"  he  exclaimed, 
taking  her  hand  after  she  had  been  severally  introduced 
to  the  guests — "  by  your  leave,  lady,"  and  he  lifted  her 
hand  to  his  lips  with  a  sense  of  rapture  which  he  had 
never  before  experienced.  Her  own  emotions,  not  less 
strong  than  his,  were  yet  more  easily  restrained ;  and 
while  her  bosom  glowed  with  warm,  fresh  feelings,  her 
eye  looked  nothing  but  the  nice  modesty,  the  shrinking 
gentleness,  and  the  winning  timidity  which  so  adorn  her 
sex. 

"  I  greet  you,  gentle  lords,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  their 
several  addresses,  "  I  greet  you  with  thanks  and  wel- 
come." 

The  pleased  wonder  of  Egiza  could  scarcely  forbear 
uttering  aloud  those  delighted  fancies  which  he  was  con- 
strained to  murmur — 

"  Oh,  beautiful !  Can  such  be  mortal,  having  such 
grace,  such  movement,  such  expression  ?  I  may  not 
speak  to  her ;  nay,  I  should  not  look,  lest  that  I  mad- 
den." 

The  approaches  of  Pelayo  were  of  another  sort,  and 
his  tall,  athletic  person  seemed  but  ill  calculated  for  the 
genuflexion  which  he  made  on  her  appearance,  while  his 
words  were  rather  hesitating  and  confused. 

"  Your  slave,  fair  Lady  Cava,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  as 
if  he  dreaded  that  his  utterance  might  fail  him  ere  his 
part  were  over  ;  "  lady — yes — your  true  servant.''  He 
sank  back  apace  when  this  was  done,  muttering  to  him- 
self as  he  did  so — 


56 


PELAYO. 


"  I'm  a  poor  gallant,  and  have  no  touch  of  the  cour- 
tier's quality.  I  were  ill  to  serve  dames  or  princes, 
since  the  painted  flesh  of  the  one  and  the  toys  that  deck 
the  other  would  never  win  me  to  the  falsehood,  in  look 
or  word,  which  is  so  much  the  delight  of  both.  I  have 
no  fingers  for  fine  action.  I  grasp  the  flower  as  if  'twere 
an  axe  for  battle  ;  I  press  the  velvet  fingers  as  if  they 
were  those  of  the  rock-heaving  warrior.  My  brother 
were  the  best  minstrel,  and,  doubtless,  the  more  grace- 
ful king.  Let  him  have  the  gifts  of  my  mother ;  I  lack 
them,  but  I  desire  them  not." 

While  he  muttered  thus  in  soliloquy,  Egiza  addressed 
himself  with  the  warmth  of  a  lover  and  a  courtier's  ease 
to  the  beautiful  girl  who  stood  beside  him. 

"  Speak  again,  sweet  Lady  Cava ;  let  me  not  break 
the  music  of  your  lips  by  praying  thee  for  more  of  it." 
"  Brave  enough  !"  exclaimed  Pelayo  to  himself  as 
the  words  reached  his  ear.  "  He  were  not  half  so  elo- 
quent to  her  sire,  nor  half  so  warm  in  winning  back  his 
kingdom." 

The  answer  of  Cava,  who  was  scarcely  less  pleased 
than  Egiza,  came  to  his  ears. 

"  You  flatter  me,  gracious  prince  ;  'tis  the  vice  of  the 
court,  they  tell  me,  to  pour  sweet  falsehoods  into  willing 
ears.  My  ear  drinks  in  the  deceit  with  gladness,  though 
my  thought  does  not  the  less  teach  me  my  undeserv- 
ing." 

"  Thought  has  the  right  on't,"  murmured  Pelayo  to 
himself ;  but  the  response  of  Egiza  was  in  a  very  differ- 
ent language. 

"  Nay,  it  wrongs  thee  much,  fair  lady,  if  it  tells  thee 
other  tale  than  my  lips  bear  thee.  What  though  sweet 
flattery  to  willing  hearts  be  the  vice  of  the  court,  be- 
lieve me,  it  is  not  my  vice,  nor  do  I  esteem  it  thy  weak- 
ness to  listen  to  such  pleasant  falsehoods.  It  is  because 
my  words  are  true  that  thou  yieldest  me  hearing,  sweet 
lady.  Ah  me  !  I  would  it  were  otherwise,  for  then 


PELAYO.  57 

might  I  the  better  hope  to  defy  the  eyes  which  assail  me 
now,  and  the  sweet  lips  which  delude  me  while  they 
glow." 

The  rapturous  glances  of  Egiza  as  he  spoke  this  im- 
passioned language,  so  natural  to  the  time  and  country, 
but  so  little  in  correspondence  with  the  proper  mood  of 
one  like  Egiza,  who  had  his  own  and  the  wrongs  of  a 
father  to  redress,  provoked  the  indignation  of  Pelayo. 

"  Oh,  patience !"  he  exclaimed,  in  tones  nearly  au- 
dible to  the  rest.  "  Oh,  patience — the  mule,  the  mule 
now.  'Tis  a  fit  servant  here.  I  must  con  these  les- 
sons of  my  uncle  for  very  safety.  What  a  dangling 
shame  is  this  good  brother  of  mine,  that  shows  more  soul 
in  seeking  a  boy's  puppet  than  in  struggling  for  a  coun- 
try and  a  crown.  He  hath  but  just  wakened  in  the 
woman's  presence,  and  we  shall  have  him  prating  of  pa- 
tience when  he  leaves  it.  Well,  they  have  such  tales, 
even  of  Hercules  the  Striker,  and  it  needs  not  that  I 
should  chafe.  Yet  Hercules  could  better  afford  the 
loss  of  his  beard  than  can  Egiza,  who  has  scarcely  got 
one." 

The  lovers  were  too  closely  engaged  and  interested 
with  one  another  to  heed  the  increasing  sternness  in  the 
looks  of  Pelayo.  They  pursued  together  the  same  fond 
wild  style  of  dialogue,  which,  indeed,  was  natural  enough 
to  the  period,  without  a  seeming  consciousness  that  they 
were  remarked  by  any  foreign  eyes ;  and  the  musings  of 
Pelayo  kept  pace  with  their  abstraction.  As  he  watched 
the  passionate  movements  of  his  brother,  the  rapturous 
glances  of  his  eye,  and  heard  the  flow  of  his  enamoured 
speech,  his  indignation  grew  more  vehement,  and  at 
length  attracted  the  notice  of  the  archbishop. 

"  We  wait  for  thee,  Pelayo,"  he  exclaimed.  The 
answer  was  not  to  the  address. 

44  A  frail  thing,  which  every  breath  of  the  season  may 
whirl  about  at  will.  Now  has  he  all  forgot  the  business 
that  he  came  for,  and  the  ghost  of  our  father  may  go  to 


58  PELAYO, 

his  tomb  again  without  revenge.  Beggary  of  fame  and 
honour — but — ah,  uncle,  patience,  I  bethink  me — pa- 
tience is  the  word  here,  is  it  not  ?" 

•'  How  ?  what  mean  you,  Pelayo  ?"  asked  the  arch- 
bishop, who,  by  this  time,  approached  him.  Pelayo 
slightly  touched  his  arm  as  he  replied. 

"  Thou  hast  been  a  sportsman — thou  lovest  the  sport, 
dost  thou  not  ?" 

"  Ay,  son  Pelayo,  thou  shouldst  know  what  thou'st 
seen.  We  have  struck  the  red  deer  together.  Why 
askst  thou  this  ?" 

"  Thou  hast  sought  thy  game,  uncle,  with  a  closer 
speed  than  thou  hast  ever  sought  for  heaven  ?" 

*'  Belike,  Pelayo,  it  is  truth  that  thou  speakst,"  re- 
plied Oppas,  with  humility.  "  The  church  hath  but  too 
many  servants  like  myself,  who  forget  their  duty  in  vain 
pursuits  and  idle  imaginings." 

"  Pshaw,  uncle,  keep  thy  homily  and  self-reproach 
for  those  who  know  thee  and  the  church  less.  Thou 
hast  wasted  one  of  thy  best  texts  of  humility.  But  to 
thy  sports,  good  uncle.  Look  on  yon  hart  and  hind. 
But  look  on  them.  'Twere  an  easy  toil  for  thee,  with 
all  thy  bulk  upon  thee  and  on  foot,  to  strike  both  with  a 
single  shaft." 

The  archbishop  with  his  eye  followed  the  direction  of 
Pelayo's  finger,  but  the  feelings  were  not  like  those  of 
the  nephew  with  which  he  surveyed  them.  A  new  plan 
for  effecting  his  object  arose  in  his  mind  as  he  beheld 
their  manifest  regard  for  each  other.  He  spoke  not, 
and  Pelayo  continued. 

"  Let  us  put  aside  this  prayer  for  patience,  good  uncle, 
or  we  lose  the  game — and  the  hunters,  too,  will  be  loss 
no  less.  Let  us  join  them,  uncle — and  see,  Count  Ju- 
lian beckons  our  approach." 

They  did  so,  and,  as  they  came  nigh  to  the  lovers — 
for  such  they  were — Egiza,  with  some  incertitude  of 
manner,  turned  from  the  maiden  to  Pelayo,  and  thus  ad- 
dressed him. 


PELAYO.  59 

"  Brother,  the  Lady  Cava  has  much  wonder  to  know 
wherefore  you  have  been  so  strange,  and  why  you  hold 
yourself  so  distant.  She  would  know  you  better,  as  she 
misdoubts  whether  it  were  easy,  so  foreign  have  you 
proved  yourself,  to  distinguish  you  hereafter.  Pray 
you,  approach,  and  speak  her." 

**  Indeed,  fair  Lady  Cava,  but  you  would  have  little 
loss  if  you  knew  me  not  hereafter ;  and  there  would 
be  but  little  profit  in  your  knowledge  of  me  now.  Mine 
is  no  courtly  temper,  such  as  my  brother  carries.  Where 
he  looks  smiles  I  would  look  spears ;  where  he  talks 
of  delightful  things,  my  speech  is  only  of  things  danger- 
ous and  dreadful.  His  thoughts  are  of  gentle  waters 
and  nodding  groves,  sweet  moonlights  and  tripping  dam- 
sels. I  think  only  of  the  array  of  battle,  of  slain  ty- 
rants ;  and  I  have  but  little  mood  for  other  more  sightly 
objects.  For  a  gentle  damsel,  his  speech  were  better 
than  mine.  I,  that  mourn  the  loss  of  a  dear  father,  the 
wrongs  of  a  brave  people,  and  revenge  upon  an  enemy, 
may  not  move  my  lips  to  courtly  language  and  gay  com- 
pliment. Let  him  who  suffers  no  such  sorrow  have  thy 
ear.  He  hath  sweet  ballads,  and  will  sing  thee  when 
in  voice,  until  thou,  like  him,  shalt  forget  there  is  aught 
of  sorrow  in  the  world." 

"  But  he  hath  his  sorrow  like  thine  own,  Prince  Pe- 
layo," replied  the  maiden.  "  Doth  he  not  mourn  like 
thee  the  loss  of  a  dear  father  ?" 

"  Ah,  Lady  Cava,  thou  hast  asked  this  question  of  my 
lips ;  wouldst  thou  had  asked  it  of  thine  own  thought. 
Behold  him,  lady.  He  looks  too  happy  in  thy  smile  to 
know  aught  of  the  sorrow  in  my  heart." 

"Nay,  but  thou  dost  him  wrong,"  replied  Cava, 
quickly,  and  blushing  deeply  as  she  spoke. 

Egiza  replied  also  to  the  reproach  of  Pelayo,  the  jus- 
tice of  which  he,  nevertheless,  felt  in  all  its  force. 

"How  now — what  mean  you,  Pelayo,  by  such 
speech?" 


60  PELAYO. 

"  What  should  I  mean  ?"  sternly  replied  Pelayo,  in 
tones  suppressed  duly  for  the  hearing  of  him  only  to 
whom  they  were  addressed.  '*  What  should  I  mean, 
but  to  tell  thee  that  thou  growest  sinewless  in  thy  pur- 
pose 1" 

The  words  of  Cava  bidding  them  to  the  entertainment 
interrupted  the  vehemence  of  that  anger  which  Pelayo 
had  only  begun  to  express,  and,  meeting  her  glance, 
he  was  compelled  to  soften  those  features  into  a  smile 
which,  at  that  moment,  were  better  fitted  to  denote  scorn 
and  indignation.  It  was  no  easy  task  ;  but,  with  a  power 
which  he  possessed  over  himself,  however  unfrequently 
disposed  to  exercise  it,  he  readily  did  so. 

"  Sweet  lady,  we  obey  you.  Hold  me  your  subject 
no  less  than  my  brother's.  I  follow — follow  where  I 
may  not  lead !"  was  the  muttered  close  of  his  speech 
of  compliment,  which,  spoken  in  lower  tones  that  the 
rest,  only  reached  the  ears  of  Egiza. 

"  Now  be  at  peace  with  your  suspicions,"  said  the 
latter.  "  Wherefore  chide  me  thus  1  dost  think  because 
I  speak  gently  with  a  noble  lady  I  am  less  fit  to  do  battle 
with  a  rugged  man  ?" 

"  Pshaw — wouldst  thou  deceive  me,  Egiza  ?"  replied 
the  other.  "  Thou  canst  not.  I  see  into  thy  soul ; 
thou  art  readier  for  the  damsel  than  for  thy  duty  ;  and 
if  thou  heed  not  she  will  win  thee  from  it.  Beware  !" 

Julian  advanced  to  them  while  the  young  men  thus 
spoke  together,  and,  with  considerate  courtesy,  he  prayed 
them  to  attend  his  daughter  to  the  feast.  This  done,  he 
followed  with  the  archbishop  ;  while,  rapidly  advancing, 
Egiza  placed  himself  at  the  side  of  Cava,  and  led  the 
way  to  an  adjoining  apartment.  Pelayo,  musing  to 
himself,  followed  at  a  slow  pace. 

««  We  came  for  succour,"  he  said,  «*  but  shall  go  hence 
with  loss.  I  see  it  in  his  eyes.  Well — let  him  but 
palter  with  us,  and  brother  though  he  be — " 


PELAYO.  61 

"  Pelayo,"  exclaimed  the  archbishop,  looking  behind 
him. 

"  Ay,  ay,  good  uncle — I  come." 


XIV. 

THUS  moving,  Count  Julian  in  close  discourse  with 
the  Archbishop  Oppas,  and  the  elder  prince,  Egiza,  not 
less  closely  in  converse  with  the  Lady  Cava,  they  took 
their  way  into  the  banqueting-room ;  the  young  prince, 
Pelayo,  following  at  a  little  distance,  musing  upon  his 
various  distresses,  soliloquizing  sometimes,  as  thus  he 
went,  in  that  form  of  humour  which  to  him  was  most 
natural,  though  to  others  strange  enough.  And  now 
when  they  were  entered  within  that  noble  apartment, 
which,  in  every  castle,  the  Gothic  nobles  assigned  to  the 
social  purposes  of  the  banquet,  their  noble  entertainer, 
the  Count  Julian,  with  a  lofty  but  gracious  cordiality, 
pressed  them  to  the  board,  and  assigned  them  honour- 
able places,  either  beside  himself  or  his  fair  daughter, 
who  presided  with  a  natural  grace,  no  less  winning  and 
becoming  in  her  than  the  same  cordiality  was  frank  and 
manly  in  her  sire.  The  board  was  amply  provided 
with  all  the  most  acceptable  viands  of  the  time ;  and 
nothing  was  wanting,  save  the  perfect  appetite,  which 
could  do  justice  to  the  hospitable  feast.  But  the  guests 
were  in  no  mood  for  animal  indulgence,  and  they  par- 
took but  sparingly  of  the  banquet.  The  minds  of  the 
archbishop  and  the  Prince  Pelayo  were  but  too  full  of 
the  object  for  which  they  came  to  feel  hunger  or  to  de- 
sire the  tempting  food  which  was  before  them ;  while 
Egiza  was  but  too  busy  gazing  upon  the  beautiful  Cava, 
and  in  feasting  upon  her  charms,  to  give  heed  to  any 
other  less  heavenly  refreshment.  Vainly  did  Count  Ju- 
lian endeavour  to  tempt  them  to  a  greater  indulgence ; 
they  ate  but  sparingly,  and  the  repast  went  off  in  com- 

VOL.  I.— F 


62  PELAYO. 

parative  silence.  When,  after  a  while,  the  Lady  Cava 
rose,  and,  bringing  a  napkin  to  each  of  her  guests,  took 
her  departure  to  another  room,  into  which  she  was  quickly 
followed  by  the  amorous  Egiza.  Meanwhile  the  arch- 
bishop and  Count  Julian  resumed  their  discourse  ;  while 
Pelayo,  who  sat  by  them  in  silence,  chafed  within  him- 
self momently,  to  listen  to  the  compromising  propositions 
of  his  uncle,  and,  as  he  esteemed  them,  the  evasive  re- 
plies of  the  count.  Fearing  to  trust  himself  to  listen 
longer  lest  that  he  should  again  offend  by  an  abrupt  ob- 
trusion of  his  thoughts,  he  finally  arose  and  followed  his 
brother  into  the  neighbouring  apartment,  in  which  Cava 
and  himself,  in  the  dreamy  illusions  of  their  newborn 
love  of  each  other,  contrived  to  wile  away  the  time  in  a 
most  perfect  and  sweet  unconsciousness  of  its  flight. 
Their  eyes  were  too  much  given  to  each  other  to  be- 
hold his  entrance ;  and  gazing  upon  them  sadly  and  in 
silence,  Pelayo  heard  the  idle  but  fond  discourse  in  which 
they  indulged. 

"  Alas !  sweet  lady !"  exclaimed  Egiza,  taking  her 
hand  while  he  spoke — a  liberty  which  she  only  slightly 
resisted,  and  to  which  she  yielded  in  the  end ;  "  how 
hast  thou  come  between  me  and  my  purpose.  Thy 
beauty  hath  misled  me  from  my  own  thoughts  as  from 
the  fixed  resolve  of  my  duty.  Thou  hast  unmanned  me, 
lady  ;  and,  in  the  happiness  of  my  heart's  visions,  I  forget 
the  toils  to  which  my  body  is  devoted." 

"And  wherefore  these  toils,  my  lord?  Wherefore, 
if  they  comport  not  with  the  heart's  happiness ;  though 
truly,  I  believe  not,  as  thou  sayst,  that  these  visions, 
which  give  thee  such  pleasure,  have  their  spring  in  me  ? 
I  am  but  a  silly  maiden.  I  have  but  little  knowledge 
of  the  gayeties  and  gallantries  of  the  court;  and  how 
should  a  life  spent  among  these  mountains  give  me  skill 
to  move  one  that  hath  always  been  a  dweller  within  it? 
Trust  me,  sweet  prince,  thou  canst  not  deceive  me  with 


PELAYO.  63 

thy  speech.     My  father  hath  but  too  well  forewarned 
me  against  the  glozing  wiles  of  the  Toledan  nobles." 

"  He  hath  done  them  wrong,  sweet  Cava,  or  thou 
dost  me  wrong  to  rank  me  with  such  as  these.  By  my 
soul,  I  swear  to  thee — " 

44  Nay,  if  thou  swearest,  my  lord,  I  cannot  believe 
thee.  I  will  trust  not  the  oath  which  is  so  ready  to  thy 
lips." 

"  A  wise  girl,"  murmured  Pelayo,  as  he  heard  her ; 
*'  she  had  better  not ;  for  if  he  doth  not  forswear  her 
he  will  yet  forswear  himself;  and  if  he  keep  truth  with 
her  he  were  but  basely  false  to  his  people.  True  or 
false,  he  were  yet  a  traitor,  or  in  the  one  behalf  or  in 
the  other  ;  but  he  speaks  again.  She  hath  blinded  him, 
and  his  very  soul  seems  sapless.  Here  he  prates  with 
a  silly  maiden,  when  he  should  grapple  with  Julian  in  ar- 
gument, if  he  seeks  his  sword.  Shallow  trifler !  that 
cannot  maintain  a  noble  purpose,  pledged  in  a  calm  mo- 
ment, and  pressing  upon  his  honour  for  its  instant  exe- 
cution. And  here,  I  doubt  not,  will  he  linger  conning 
love  ditties  to  idle  ears,  and  giving  idle  ears  to  love 
ditties  in  return,  till  he  grows  puny  as  the  bird  he  would 
emulate,  and  falls  an  easy  victim  to  the  cunning  fowler." 

Meanwhile  the  fond  Egiza,  whose  want  of  character 
was  but  too  well  known  to  the  penetrating  mind  of  Pe- 
layo, continued  to  pour  his  flatteries  into  the  ears  of  the 
credulous  maiden,  who,  kept  for  so  long  a  time  in  se- 
clusion, and  now  just  budding  into  womanhood,  was  but 
too  susceptible  to  such  subduing  music. 

"  Till  this  hour  I  have  not  lived,  sweet  Cava.  Thou 
hast  given  me  life  in  the  new  feelings  which  possess  me. 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me  thus.  Look  not  coldly,  but  be- 
lieve me  what  I  say.  Thou  hast  inspired  me  with  life 
— thou  hast  brought  a  new  joy  to  my  heart — thou  hast 
given  to  rny  eyes  a  vision  of  heaven." 

Love  at  first  sight,  or  love  at  any  sight,  was  some- 
thing new  to  the  thought  of  Pelayo,  who  gave  little  heed 


64  PELAYO. 

to  such  idle  influences.  He  listened  with  curious  anx- 
iety to  hear  the  answer  of  the  maiden  to  such  a  raptur- 
ous declaration. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,  thou  dost  make  sport  of  me,  I  fear. 
Thy  compliment  is  too  reaching  for  my  belief.  I  will 
not  hear  thee  longer,  and  were  foolish  to  hold  thy  flat- 
tery as  truth." 

"  Stick  to  that  damsel,  I  pray  thee,"  muttered  Pelayo. 
"  Believe  him  not ;  for,  if  true  to  thee,  he  is  still  false  ; 
and  though  thou  give  him  all  faith,  he  will  rob  his 
faith  from  others  if  he  requite  thee.  But — hear  him." 

<4  Nay,  Cava,  thou  art  no  less  unjust  to  thy  own  beau- 
ties than  to  my  heart  which  adores  them.  Trust  them 
and  me,  and  believe  me  not  wild  or  wilful  when  I  tell 
thee  that  I  love  thee." 

"Ha!  What  will  she  say  to  that?"  murmured  Pe- 
layo, gloomily. 

"  Oh,  sir — my  lord,  I  were  wrong  to  heed  thee  longer. 
Let  me  leave  thee.  Nay,  sir,  but  I  must.  Thy  speech 
hath  a  tone  of  artifice,  and  it  becomes  not  me  to  hear 
thee.  Thou  art  rash  to  speak  to  me  thus  ;  thou  hast  but 
seen  me ;  and  I  were  more  rash  to  hearken  thee,  who 
may  not  see  thee  again." 

**  Cunningly  ended,"  said  Pelayo,  while  Cava,  retreat- 
ing, or  seeming  to  retreat,  moved  away  towards  a  long 
gallery,  to  which  her  froward  lover  did  not  scruple  to 
pursue  her.  Pelayo  came  on  as  they  disappeared. 

"  Now,  should  I  not  follow  him  ?"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Should  I  not  follow  him,  and  stay  this  folly  ?  It  were 
well  for  both  were  I  to  do  so.  It  were  well  for  the 
cause,  which  this  folly  mocks,  and  his  vain  spirit  seems 
to  forget.  All's  lost  that  hangs  on  him.  It  must  not 
be  thus !  What  right  hath  he  to  throw  away  our  hope, 
and  cripple  the  cause  which  needs  every  arm,  and  will 
brook  no  delay  for  such  pastime  ?  'Tis  no  season  for 
love  when  the  tyrant  rages — the  bird  sings  not  in  the 
tempest.  I'll  go  between  them;  I  will  disturb  their 


PELAYO.  65 

music ;  an  they  will  parley  after  this  fashion,  they  shall 
have  grave  counsel.  They  shall  not  fall  into  folly  with- 
out warning,  though  I  preach  to  them  after  a  favourite 
text  with  the  Archbishop  of  Seville,  and  cry  «  patience' 
as  a  charm  against  too  much  vigour  of  blood.  There 
they  palm  it  in  the  gallery.  I'll  follow  them." 


XV. 


FULL. of  his  newborn  admiration  for  the  beauties  of 
the  Lady  Cava,  Egiza,  with  that  flexibility  of  soul  which 
was  his  prevailing  defect,  now  pressed  his  love  upon 
her  in  another  apartment.  Even  as  he  spoke,  his  youn- 
ger brother,  Pelayo,  whose  spirit  had  no  such  mood 
within  him,  and  whose  only  thought  now  was  the 
rescue  of  his  people  from  the  despotic  Roderick  and 
the  revenging  of  his  father's  death,  walked  forward 
gloomily  to  where  the  two  held  their  discourse.  The 
eyes  of  Egiza  were  too  much  with  his  heart  to  behold 
his  coming,  and  those  of  the  Lady  Cava  looked  not  up 
once  from  the  floor  as  she  listened  to  a  strain  of  profes- 
sion which  she  readily  drank  in  from  the  lips  uttering  it. 

"  Now  will  they  curse  me  in  their  souls  for  an  in- 
truder upon  their  pleasures,"  murmured  Pelayo,  as  he 
beheld  the  two.  He  paused  in  his  progress  and  hesi- 
tated. While  he  did  so,  the  urgent  and  persuasive  tones 
of  his  brother's  voice  came  to  his  ears. 

"  Nay,  chide  me  not,  sweetest  Cava,  that  I  thus  fondly 
pursue  thee  with  my  love.  Hear  me  plead,  dearest  lady, 
with  sufficient  reason  for  my  prayer.  The  times  are 
wild,  full  of  images  of  danger,  full  of  strife  and  appre- 
hensions. Should  I  now  forego  the  blessed  chance 
which  has  yielded  me  thy  hearing,  I  were  not  sure  that 
like  good  fortune  should  be  mine  hereafter.  The  next 
F2 


• 


66  PELAYO. 

hour  may  lose  me  the  opportunity  of  which  I  now  seek 
to  avail  myself." 

"  Oh,  sir — my  noble  lord — do  not,  I  pray  you,  look 
upon  me,  and  implore  me  after  this  pressing  fashion. 
You  do  wrong  to  a  timid  maiden  by  such  prayer.  Mine 
eye  hath  only  seen  you  ;  it  were  rash,  and  worthy  of  a 
long  sorrow  and  a  heavy  judgment,  were  I  so  quickly  to 
incline  a  willing  ear  to  your  soliciting.  Let  me  go  free, 
my  lord,  and  I  will  think  of  what  thou  hast  spoken." 

"  He  is  no  man  if  this  answer  baffles  him,"  murmured 
Pelayo  ;  "  it  is  a  denial  very  like  a  consenting.  .  A  pretty 
hypocrite — she  does  it  well.  Her  eyelids  point  to  the 
floor  which  her  eyes  see  not ;  her  arms  hang  idly,  as  if 
they  felt  it  wrong  to  be  without  employ ;  and,  do  but 
behold  her  feet,  how  they  peep  out  and  play  apart  upon 
the  floor.  There  is  a  strife  between  the  tongue  that 
speaks  and  the  heart  which  speaks  not,  which  these 
pretty  feet  do  show,  and  which  the  soft  warrior  watches. 
Stay — he  speaks — he  hath  paused  for  memory.  Belike 
the  flowers  of  his  fancy  need  to  be  looked  after ;  he 
hath  not  tended  them  lately." 

*'  Nay,  sweetest  Cava,  wouldst  thou  then  leave  me "? 
and  whence  this  fear?  What  though  your  eyes  have 
not  until  this  day  beheld  me,  it  makes  not  against  your 
taking  the  homage  of  the  heart  which  their  first  glances 
have  won." 

44  It  were  a  weakness,  noble  lord,"  she  murmured  in 
reply. 

"  And  the  weakness  of  love,  sweetest  Cava,  is  the 
very  strength  of  nature,  and  may  not  be  gainsaid  by 
reproach.  It  is  no  weakness  such  as  makes  the  heart 
ashamed.  It  is  none  to  bring  shame  to  thee." 

11  But  sorrow,  perchance,  my  lord — much  sorrow." 

"  Wherefore  ?  The  decree  of  love  is  from  Heaven, 
and  the  destiny  is  but  a  sad  one  in  which  its  pleasant 
law  is  not  written.  To  deny  love's  prayer  is  to  defy 


PELAYO.      m*  67 


Heaven's  destiny,  and  set  at  naught  the  duty  which,  if 
obeyed,  were  not  less  for  our  pleasure  than  our  good. 
Hear  me,  then,  dearest  Cava  ;  be  not  stern,  be  not  cold, 
lest  that  thou  wrong  Heaven's  own  laws  by  withholding 
thy  obedience." 

"  Thou  dost  press  me  too  closely,  my  lord  ;  I  am  too 
young  to  answer  thee." 

The  reply  was  uttered  in  broken  murmurs,  and  Pe- 
layo  well  saw  that  the  words  which  she  spoke  were  for- 
eign to  her  meaning.  His  sarcastic  humour  noted  well 
the  contradiction. 

"  And  yet,  by  the  distaff  of  Hercules  the  Slumberer, 
even  as  she  speaks  there  is  a  warm  wish  in  her  heart 
that  he  had  pressed  her  more  closely  yet.  The  old 
snake  again ;  and  our  Adam  may  well  beware,  since 
the  hypocrite  that  counselled  Eve  hath  not  withheld  his 
lessons  from  her  daughter.  See,  her  head  bends  towards 
him,  though  her  lip  prays  him  to  keep  his  distance.  Well 
——Heaven  keep  us,  we  shall  know  some  day  what  we 
need,  or  would  have,  at  least,  for  we  do  not  often  say  ifrj£ 
for  ourselves." 

Egiza  did  not  mistake  the  true  nature  of  Cava's  feel- 
ings. Her  words  misled  him  as  little  as  they  did  his 
brother,  and  his  prayer  became  more  earnest. 

"  Oh,  be  not  thus  chary  of  thy  charms,  sweet  Cava. 
took  up,  dear  lady,  and  hearken  to  love's  argument  not 
less  than  to  his  prayer." 

"  Love's  argument  !"  said  Pelayo.  "  Well,  that's 
new.  He'll  give  it  her,  I  trust." 

"  Thou  dost  object  the  briefness  of  our  knowledge 
—our  discourse ;  thou  sayst  that  'twere  a  weakness, 
having  seen  but  once,  to  dispose  ourselves  in  love,  and 
might  bring  sorrow  upon  our  hearts." 

"  In  truth,  I  fear  it  much,  my  lord.  We  were  but 
rash — it  were  a  child's  weakness  to  yielc  us  up  to  such 
sudden  passion." 


68  PELAYO. 

"  The  girl  has  sense  enough  in  her  head  if  her  heart 
were  out  of  the  way  !"  exclaimed  Pelayo.  But  the  an- 
swer of  Egiza  was  in  another  mood. 

"  And  yet  how  else,  my  sweetest  Cava,  are  spirits  to 
be  won  and  wedded,  if  not  thus  ?  Love  is  no  sober 
student  —  he  needs  no  long  study  —  no  books  —  no 
schools — no  teaching.  He  moves  to  his  purpose  by  no 
measures,  no  scales,  no  weights.  He  gains  not  his 
conquest  by  a  ten  years'  siege,  which,  sovereign  though 
it  may  be  for  patience,  were  but  a  death  to  him  who, 
in  an  instant,  leaps  to  his  possession  when  we  least  note 
his  movement.  'Tis  an  instinct,  sweet  Cava,  and  not 
a  study.  It  is  the  first  instinct  of  the  heart ;  for,  until  it 
loves,  the  heart  has  no  consciousness  of  life.  My  heart 
has  not  lived  till  within  this  hour  —  ah,  may  it  be  that 
thine  has  taken  life  in  the  same  sweet  consciousness  with 
mine.  This  is  my  prayer,  sweet  Cava — this  my  hope. 
Hast  thou  not  an  answer  for  me,  dearest  ?  If  thou  hast 
not — if  the  heart  which  mine  own  seeks  feels  not  now, 
with  an  instinct  quickening  into  life,  like  mine,  then  am 
I  lost.  I  hope  not  from  other  pleading.  Is  it  thus, 
Cava  1  Tell  me — art  thou  unfeeling  ?  art  thou  cold  ? 
wilt  thou  deny  rne  ?  shall  I  pray  to  thee  in  vain  1" 

The  respiration  of  the  maiden  seemed  checked,  and 
the  broken  words  which  followed  were  a  full  answer, 
had  the  excited  feelings  of  Egiza  suffered  him  to  note 
their  emphasis. 

"  Oh  no — not  unfeeling — not  cold,  my  lord." 

"  Tell  me  then,  dearest  Cava,  that  the  instinct  of  my 
heart  is  thine.  Say  to  me  that  thou  lovest  me." 

"  The  game  is  too  close  hunted — I'll  give  it  reprieve 
— come  in  at  the  death,  but  not  see  it." 

Speaking  thus,  Pelayo  advanced  ;  and,  ere  the  lady 
could  frame  her  answer,  the  heavy  tread  of  his  step 
reached  the  ears  of  the  lovers,  and  arrested  their  dia- 
logue. 

"  Ah,  lady,"  he  exclaimed  to  her  as  he  approached, 


PELAYO.  69 

"  thou  hast  made  but  little  count  of  thy  guests,  since 
thou  hast  left  them  to  seek  thee  out  as  they  might.  I 
had  hoped  to  find  thee  ere  my  brother  ;  but,  as  ho  has 
the  birthright,  so,  it  seems,  he  has  the  good  fortune.  I 
have  but  stumbled  upon  thee  without  guidance,  since  he 
has  had  thine  eyes  to  himself." 

With  the  instant  readiness  of  the  woman,  the  confu- 
sion which  a  moment  before  overspread  every  feature  of 
the  maiden's  countenance  now  utterly  departed ;  and 
she  replied  with  ease  by  saying,  what,  indeed,  was  the 
truth,  that  she  had  left  him  and  his  brother  alike  under 
the  guidance  and  in  the  company  of  her  father. 

"  Why,  true,  fair  lady  ;  and  yet  my  brother,  you  see, 
could  escape  to  seek  out  a  better  guide ;  and  a  like 
passion  beset  me,  the  more,  indeed,  as  I  left  the  good 
count  under  my  uncle's  homily,  and  he  in  the  highest 
heaven  of  his  self-esteem  while  he  bestowed  it  upon  him. 
I  had  no  wish  to  rob  your  father  of  the  blessing,  and,  I 
fear  me,  have  stolen  here  upon  devotions  even  more  ur- 
gent than  those  I  fled  from.  My  brother  has  a  most 
priestlike  visage,  and  ydu,  Lady  Cava — nay,  you  look 
not  like  one  who  could  well  guide  either  of  us  now  to 
the  fine  prospects  of  this  noble  castle." 

Egiza  now  beheld  the  renewed  confusion  of  the  dam- 
sel at  these  words,  and  interposed  for  her  relief. 

"  Nay,  nay,  brother — we  did  but  step  aside  that  our 
uncle  should  speak  securely  to  Count  Julian  on  the  sub- 
ject which,  as  thou  well  knowst,  he  has  so  much  at 
heart.  It  were  not  well  in  us  to  meddle  with  the  better 
arguments  with  which  it  is  his  hope  to  move  him  to  our 
aid." 

"  And  hop'st  thou  aught,"  demanded  Pelayo,  in  a  side 
whisper,  of  his  brother,  "  and  hop'st  thou  aught  from 
this  appeal  ?  If  thou  dost  so  far  deceive  thyself,  good 
brother,  thou  canst  not  deceive  me.  The  damsel's  fa- 
ther will  do  nothing  for  us — I  say  the  damsel's  father, 
Egiza." 


70  PELAYO. 

"  A  moment,  fairest  lady,"  said  Egiza,  as  he  turned 
from  Cava  to  Pelayo  ;  "  I  will  but  speak  a  moment — 
'tis  an  urgent  matter — with  my  brother." 

The  maiden  bowed,  and  turned  from  the  speaker  to 
the  corner  of  the  gallery. 

"  How  know  you  —  wherefore  think  you  thus,  Pe- 
layo 1" 

"  See — the  Lord  Oppas  comes  with  Julian.  Behold 
the  brows  of  your  uncle,  and  take  your  answer  from 
them.  'Tis  written  there  legibly  enough  ;  but  I  knew 
it  long  before,  from  the  face  of  Julian  himself.  See 
his  brow,  how  smooth ;  he  has  had  his  response  ready 
ere  he  heard  our  uncle's  argument,  of  which  you  thought 
so  greatly,  and  which,  from  the  beginning,  I  held  of  but 
little  account ;  and  now  go,  if  it  so  please  you,  and 
prattle  your  gay  conceits  in  the  ears  of  the  maiden  whose 
sire  denies  you  justice,  denies  you  the  due  of  his  life 
and  good  sword,  both  of  which,  as  his  proper  sovereign, 
you  have  the  right  to  challenge.  But,  ere  you  go,  hear 
me.  Prepare  to  give  up  the  crown  and  kingdom  of 
our  father,  or  go  with  me  with  the  dawn  for  the  Astu- 
rias." 

When  he  had  ended  these  words,  Pelayo  turned  from 
his  brother  to  where  the  two  of  whom  Jie  spoke  were 
approaching,  and  with  a  scornful  composure  of  counte- 
nance awaited  their  coming.  Count  Julian,  who  beheld 
and  understood  the  glance,  did  not,  however,  suffer  it  to 
move  him,  but  continued  to  speak  of  the  topic  between 
himself  and  his  companion,  which,  from  his  remarks, 
seemed  about  to  be  brought  to  a  full  though  not  a  fa- 
vourable conclusion. 

"  You  have  my  thought,  my  Lord  Oppas,  without  re- 
straint. I  have  spared  nothing  and  strained  nothing  in 
my  judgment  on  this  subject.  It  would  glad  me  much 
that  these  young  men  should  have  the  station  to  which 
they  assert  a  right,  for  I  cannot  forget  the  many  and 


PELAYO.  71 

great  kindnesses  bestowed  upon  me  by  their  father. 
But  I  cannot  hold  the  cause  of  Roderick  to  be  less  just 
than  is  theirs.  The  right  of  election  is  with  the  people, 
and  they  have  raised  him  upon  the  shield ;  and  I  hold 
that  whatever  might  be  the  blood  within  his  veins,  wheth- 
er it  sprang  from  the  heart  of  the  Goth  or  the  Roman, 
or  from  the  base  puddle  of  the  Iberian  or  the  Bascone, 
it  were  still  in  the  power  of  the  Gothic  people  to  lift  it 
to  such  honourable  estimation  as  now  crowns  the  ambi- 
tion of  Roderick." 

"  It  grieves  me  that  you  think  so,  Count  Julian  ;  and 
no  less  great  is  my  sorrow  that  you  have  proved  your- 
self insensible  to  the  other  arguments  of  force  which  I 
had  deemed  it  useful  to  urge  upon  you.  You  will  not 
esteem  it  an  obtrusion,  Count  Julian,  if  I  pray  you  still 
to  consider  them.  There  is  yet  time." 

The  count  smiled  as  he  replied  gently,  but  with  suf- 
ficient firmness  of  air  to  show  that  he  was  inflexible  in 
the  resolve  which  he  had  made. 

**  The  arguments,  as  you  are  pleased  to  style  them, 
my  lord  bishop,  move  me  not.  Were  it  wise  in  me,  at 
my*  years,  to  seek  for  place  and  power  beyond  that 
within  my  present  possession,  this  commission  just  re- 
ceived from  King  Roderick,  giving  me  the  highest  sub- 
ordinate power  in  the  kingdom,  without  prayer  or  ser- 
vice from  me,  would  reasonably  encourage  me  to  hope 
for  more  at  his  hands,  were  I  moved  to  wish  such 
gain.  But  I  desire  no  greater  honours,  as  I  desire  no 
additional  toils  and  responsibilities.  I  take  not  my 
present  charge,  which  I  had  thought  to  have  yielded  up 
to  some  fitting  successor,  but  that  the  Moor  threatens 
at  our  gates,  and  the  soldiers  who  are  accustomed  to  de- 
fend them  are  no  less  accustomed  to  me  as  their  cap- 
tain in  such  defence.  To  this  effect  is  the  answer 
which  I  have  prepared  for  Roderick,  in  acknowledging 
the  trust  which  he  has  been  pleased  to  confirm  in  my 
hands." 


72  PELAYO. 

Pelayo  joined  them  at  this  moment,  and,  speaking 
abruptly,  arrested  the  courteous  response  which  the  arch- 
bishop was  preparing  for  the  ears  of  Julian. 

"  Soh,  good  uncle,  now  that  you  have  your  answer, 
let  us  be  gone.  Let  us  give  our  gratitude  and  our 
thanks — words,  words,  all — and  then  away.  We  need 
make  but  little  pause,  and  may  make  great  speed  in 
our  progress,  since  we  carry  no  burden,  unless  it  be 
my  brother's  impatience.  We  have  come  hither  hoping 
much ;  what  we  bear  hence  will  diminish  our  hope,  and 
so  lessen  the  weight  we  bear  away.  We  do  not  leave 
our  host  in  such  good  fortune,  since  thy  homily,  Lord 
Oppas,  has  made  him  reasonably  grave." 

"  And  what  need  of  such  haste,  my  friend  1  give 
yourselves  leave  to-night,  and  enjoy  our  couches.  Do 
me  grace,  my  young  lord,  whose  speech  is  more  sharp 
than  needful,  and  wrong  me  not  in  your  thought,  that  I 
adventure  not  with  you.  If  my  prayer  and  reason  might 
avail,  I  would  have  you  forbear  your  purpose  also,  as 
it  were  but  desperation  to  lift  an  arm  against  Roderick. 
He  is  too  firmly  seated  in  the  throne  for  any  force,  such 
as  yours  to  overthrow." 

"  Perhaps,  perhaps  my  lord  ;  —  but  my  lessons 
have  not  taught  me  this  heedful  policy.  That  rule  of 
narrow  selfishness  which  determines  of  its  duty  by  its 
chance  was  not  among  my  lessons.  I  measure  no 
virtue  by  expediency.  My  duty  must  be  done,  though 
Count  Julian  counsels  against  it ;  I  must  strive  at  the 
work  which  is  given  me,  though  I  perish  in  the  labour. 
I  know  there  is  a  more  sleek  sort  of  virtue  in  the  world 
which  takes  easier  roads  of  duty ;  I  gainsay  not  him 
who  prefers  it ;  and  well  I  know  that  such  have  always 
fine  arguments  for  its  defence.  Let  it  pass.  Yet  I 
thank  you,  my  lord  count,  for  your  courtesy ;  nor,  though 
I  use  it  not,  am  I  less  grateful  for  your  good  counsel. 
It  might  profit  others,  but  would  only  beggar  me ;  and 


„       PELAYO.  73 

I  leave  it,  therefore,  my  lord,  for  those  goodlier  persons 
whom  it  would  better  stead  than  myself.  Shall  we  not 
depart,  good  uncle  1" 

"  Ay,  my  son,  if  it  please  you*     Yet  a  moment." 

He  turned  to  Count  Julian  as  he  iL;is  replied  to  Pe- 
layo,  and  in  tones  which  were  audible  only  to  the  two* 
and  were  meant  only  for  the  ears  of  the  former,  he  thus 
spoke. 

"  What  we  have  spoken,  my  lord  count,  I  hold  to  be 
in  sacred  trust  between  us." 

Julian  put  his  hand  on  his  heart  as  he  replied — 

"  You  are  safe  with  me,  my  lord  bishop  ;  for  though 
the  officer  of  King  Roderick,  my  honour  is  in  my  own 
keeping.  If  I  betray  not  my  own  trust,  he  cannot  de- 
mand of  me  to  betray  the  trust  of  another." 

"  And  if  you  did,  my  lord,"  exclaimed  Pelayo,  mis- 
understanding the  import  of  Julian's  reply,  and  striking 
the  hilt  of  his  weapon  as  he  spoke — "  and  if  you  did, 
my  lord,  you  would  not  find  us  willing  victims.  There 
are  swords  to  be  bared  and  blows  to  be  struck  ere  the 
betrayed  fall  at  the  mercy  of  the  betrayer  in  sacrifice  to 
his  tyrant." 

"  There  needs  not  this  display  of  valour,  young  man," 
replied  the  count,  calmly.  "I  mean  you  no  wrong. 
You  have  sought  me  trusting  to  my  faith,  and  you  shall 
not  suffer  by  your  confidence.  Yet  it  were  well  to  say 
that  I  would  not  have  you  again  seek  me  on  such  mis- 
sion. It  is  enough  for  you  to  know  that  I  shall  this  day 
accept  the  trust  of  King  Roderick ;  such  trust  will  be 
incompatible  with  your  purpose ;  and  I  must  not  know 
of  it.  From  this  moment,  what  has  already  passed  is 
forgotten.  You  are  free  to  depart  without  interruption 
when  you  please,  though  it  were  no  wrong  to  my  hon- 
our to  give  you  honourable  tendance  and  fresh  couches 
for  the  night.  Let  me  pray  you,  then,  to  remain." 

"  I  know,  my  lord  count,  that  we  are  free  to  depart 

VOL.  I.— G 


74  FELATO.        . 

— I,  at  least,  am  free.  I  carry  my  freedom  here," 
touching  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  «*  Hold  me  not  un- 
thankful for  your  courtesy,  my  lord,  when  I  decline  it ; 
but  I  must  be  soon  a  traveller  if  I  would  not  that  my 
head  should  keep  countenance  with  that  of  my  father — 
the  King  Witiza — your  friend,  Count  Julian — upon  the 
gates  of  Toledo." 

There  was  much  in  this  speech  that  pained  and  of- 
fended Count  Julian ;  but,  with  the  subdued  superiority 
of  age,  he  freely  allowed  for  the  warmth  and  impetuos- 
ity of  youth,  angered  as  it  was,  in  the  case  of  Pelayo, 
by  his  late  and  painful  losses.  Still,  he  could  scarce 
forbear  stern  reply  ;  yet  he  turned  away,  and  bit  his  lip 
in  silence.  Meanwhile  the  three  prepared  to  depart ; 
and,  while  they  bade  their  adieus  to  their  host  and  his 
lovely  daughter,  Pelayo  addressed  himself  to  the  latter 
with  more  freedom  than  he  had  before  shown  in  his  ap- 
proaches to  her. 

"  Lady,  by  your  leave,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  and 
carrying  it  to  his  lips,  an  action  which  not  a  little  annoy- 
ed the  jealous  Egiza,  who  was  engaged  in  speech  with 
Julian.  "  Oh,  you  shall  be  my  queen,  sweetest  lady, 
and  no  subject  in  your  realm  should  be  so  true  to  you 
as  I,  if  you  can  but  persuade  my  brother  here  to  rid 
himself  of  a  certain  damsel  whom  he  wills  for  ever  to 
ride  in  his  train." 

"  A  damsel,  my  lord  ?"  demanded  Cava,  in  unfeigned 
astonishment. 

"  Ay,  lady,  a  damsel — not  so  fair  as  thou  art,  but  one 
he  would  keep  with  no  less." 

*'  I  pray  you,  what  is  she  ?"  inquired  the  maiden. 

"  Ask  you  for  her  name  or  quality  V 

"  Oh,  both,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  then,  her  name  is  Patience — a  goodly  scrip- 
ture name.  Our  uncle,  the  archbishop  here,  taught  it 
him,  with  her  choice  qualities,  in  sundry  exhortations  ; 


PELAYO.  75 

Tmul  now,  he  takes  her  to  his  bosom  instead  of  many 
virtues.  She  is  now,  indeed,  my  brother's  mistress. 
She  rides  with  him,  nor  trusts  him  at  any  time  from 
her  sight.  If  he  would  move,  she  plucks  him  by 
the  sleeve,  and  counsels  him  against  rash  riding  and 
youthful  venturesomeness ;  and  when  other  youth  not 
so  counselled  would  urge  him  on  to  greater  daring,  she 
quarrels  with  them  in  a  mood  too  spiteful  to  keep  faith 
with  the  name  she  bears.  Truly,  Lady  Cava,  would  I 
rejoice  that  my  brother  should  ride  with  any  damsel  but 
this,  for  she  drives  better  spirits  from  his  side,  and  keeps 
him  in  a  sad  lonesomeness,  and  all  the  bondage  of  the 
solitude  she  makes.  Couldst  thou  help  him,  sweet 
lady—" 

The  approach  of  the  jealous  Egiza  enabled  him  to 
hear  much  of  what  his  brother  had  said,  and  to  interrupt 
him  at  this  moment — 

"  He  jests,  sweet  lady.  He  hath  a  stray  spirit, 
which  moves  him  ever  to  such  speech  of  his  friends. 
Heed  him  not,  I  pray  you." 

"  I  jest !"  exclaimed  Pelayo.  "  I  tell  thee  not  to  be- 
lieve me,  sweet  Lady  Cava,  for  I  know  thou  wilt.  I 
cannot  jest.  I  can  understand  no  jest.  When  I  jest 
teeth  are  broken — ay,  and  heads  too.  He  knows  I  do 
not  jest,  and  jests  when  he  tells  thee  thus.  I  leave  you, 
lady." 

"  Farewell,  farewell,  sweet  Cava,"  was  the  parting 
whisper  of  Egiza.  "You  are  in  my  heart — its  sub- 
stance and  its  soul,  dear  lady." 

"  And  in  mine  too,  sweet  lady,"  said  Pelayo,  whose 
keen  ear  caught  the  whisper,  "  if  thou  wilt  but  do  as  I 
have  prayed  thee.  Teach  him  to  rid  himself  of  that 
damsel  of  whom  I  told  thee,  so  that  he  shall  awaken 
into  the  life  that  is  his  duty,  and  the  rough  speech  of 
Pelayo  shall  take  a  goodlier  tone,  and  shape  your 
praises  even  into  sounds  of  music." 


T6  FELAYO. 

41 

"  You  overrate  my  power,  Prince  Pelayo." 

"  Not  a  whit — I  would  that  thou  shouldst  use  it  for 
his  good.  I  pray  thee,  lady,  if  again  he  seeks  thee, 
that  thou  wilt  do  so." 

Egiza  murmured  over  these  words  as  he  passed  from 
the  threshold  : — 

"  If  he  seeks  thee  ?  Can  I  else  than  seek  her  ?  I 
have  no  thought  now  but  to  remain  ;  and  if  my  power 
serve  but  with  my  will,  I  cannot  help  but  return." 

"  You  grow  impatient,  brother,"  exclaimed  Pelayo, 
after  he  had  bidden  farewell  to  the  count.  "  Why  do 
you  linger  ?  The  fair  damsel,  Love,  has  departed,  and 
the  other  damsel,  who  is  not  so  fair,  Dame  Patience, 
grows  chill  with  waiting." 


XVI. 

THERE  was  no  hope  from  Julian.  He  was  firm  in 
his  refusal  to  take  part  with  those,  whose  cause,  however 
rightful  at  first,  was,  in  truth,  unlawful  now — inasmuch 
as  the  Goths,  according  to  ancient  usage,  had  duly 
elected  the  usurper  Roderick.  The  usurpation  had 
been  legalized  by  the  strongest  faction,  and  there  was 
little  doubt  but  that  the  greater  portion  of  the  people 
were  with  the  tyrant.  In  this  condition  of  things,  his 
rejection  of  the  arguments  of  the  Lord  Bishop  Oppas 
was  peremptory,  and  that  ambitious  and  intriguing 
churchman  was  compelled  to  forego  all  hope  from  the 
quarter  to  which  his  eyes  had  been  directed  far  too 
much.  Leaving  the  palace  of  the  count,  the  mood  of 
each  had  in  it  much  of  disappointment.  That  of  the 
archbishop  arose,  naturally  enough,  from  the  refusal  of 
Julian.  Pelayo,  only  chafed  with  the  delay,  as  at  no 
period  did  he  look  to  have  aid  against  the  usurper  from 
one  who  consented  to  hold  office  under  him.  The  dis- 
appointment of  Egiza  was  soothed  by  the  passages  of 


tELAYO.  77 

which  had  taken  place  between  the  Lady  Cava  and 
himself,  and  his  regret  arose  rather  from  the  necessity 
compelling  him  to  leave  her  presence,  than  from  any 
great  sense  of  mortification  following  the  refusal  of 
Julian  to  take  part  in  the  conspiracy.  The  several 
moods  of  the  parties  resulted  in  a  falling  off  from  each 
other  of  their  usual  sympathies,  and,  with  but  small 
show  of  cordiality,  the  two  young  princes  listened  to 
new  suggestions  from  Oppas. 

"  Heed  it  not  now,  Pelayo.  It  is  a  sad  chance — but 
we  have  friends  left — many,  glad  to  serve  us,  and  not 
less  willing  to  bring  down  the  usurper.  To-morrow 
night  we  meet.  There  you  will  see  them — hear  their 
advice,  accept  their  pledges,  and  prepare,  at  all  points, 
to  gain  the  vantage  ground  in  the  commotion  which 
must  come  ere  long.  Think  not  of  the  Asturias  yet. 
The  peasants  there  may  be  true,  but  they  are  too  remote. 
To  bring  them  here,  on  his  own  ground,  to  fight  with 
Roderick,  it  were  only  to  destroy  them.  We  must 
strike  here,  and  suddenly.  You  will  come  to-night  ?" 

"  I  will,  good  uncle,  (hough  I  look  for  other  defeat 

from  thy  ministry.     Thou  art  too  subtle  to  be  certain — . 

too  skeptical  of  man's  honesty  properly  to  believe,  and 

considerately  to  serve,  the  people.     With  no  faith  in 

others,  they  will  not  wisely  do  to  believe  in  thee  ;  and 

it  is  the  nature  of  thy  practice  to  scorn  the  direct,  in  a 

fond  search  after  the  pathway  which  is  hidden.     Go  to 

— this  policy  may  seize  but  will  not  secure — it  may 

win,  but  is  not  worthy  to  win — it  may  conquer  in  battle, 

but  the  strife  is  without  honour,  and  would  tarnish  the 

spurs  of  the   good   knight,  though  he  conquer  by  it. 

Thou  wilt  say  I  dream  in  this,  as  it  is  the  wont  always 

with  the  cunning  to  say  of  those  who  hold  man  higher 

than  he  holds  himself.     But,  if  my  thought  were  the 

world's   thought,  then  wouldst   thou  lose  thy  bishopric, 

for  then  would  men  be  far  more  Christian  than  all  thy 

teachings  could  make  them,  or  approve  thvself.     Of  thy 

G  2 


78  PKLAYa. 

holy  practices,  good  uncle,  I  speak  not — I  will  not  do 
thee  so  much  unkindness." 

"  Thou  art  most  considerate,  Pelayo,  but  thou  endest 
thy  speech  where  it  were  better  to  have  begun.  Take 
a  better  mood  to  thee,  and  be  prudent  to  be  wise.  I 
forgive  thee  all  thou  sayst,  for  the  cause  we  hold  is  ours 
in  common.  Thou  hast  thy  venture  along  with  thy 
brother's  and  mine,  and  I  can  well  understand  the  rash 
words  which  the  peril  of  its  loss  may  prompt  thy  lips  in 
their  utterance."  The  bishop  spoke  soothingly,  and  to 
him  Pelayo  replied  without  the  pause  of  an  instant — 

"  I  have  no  cause  such  as  thou  claimest  in  this,  lord 
bishop.  Speak  not  of  mine,  or  of  thine,  or  of  my 
brother's  cause,  when  the  beautiful  country  of  our  fathers 
is  trodden  by  an  accursed  tyrant.  That  is  my  cause — I 
aim  at  no  crown,  either  for  Egiza  or  myself." 

"  This  is  our  cause  as  well,"  promptly  responded  the 
archbishop,  who  felt  the  necessity  of  conciliating  one 
already  renowned  for  his  valour,  and  possessing  a  won- 
derful influence  over  the  few  knights  of  their  party,  who 
admired  his  courage  and  conduct,  and  were  secure  in 
the  knowledge  which  they  possessed  of  his  virtue  and 
patriotism.  "  This  is  our  cause,  as  well  as  thine,  Pe- 
layo, and  the  cause  of  all  who  feel  with  us ;  as  thou 
shalt  see  to-night,  at  thy  coming.  Thou  wilt  come  1" 

"  I  will." 

"Where  goest  thou  now,  Pelayo7?"  inquired  his  brother, 
seeing  him  about  to  depart.  The  person  addressed 
turned  abruptly  upon  the  speaker,  and  with  eyes  that 
seemed  to  pierce  him  through,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, thus  addressed  him  in  reply  : 

"  Thou  hast  known  me  long,  Egiza.  Shall  I  say  to 
fhee  that  Pelayo  has  no  thought  but  of  his  duty — his 
duty  to  the  living — his  duty  to  the  dead.  The  good  of 
the  one — the  just  homage  to  the  other.  I  go  upon  these 
duties.  I  work  through  all  the  hours  in  our  labour — 
yet  think  not  that  I  work  for  thee.  My  dream  by  night 
— my  thought  by  day — my  hope,  through  all  seasons  the 


PELAYO.  79 

same,  is,  that  the  creature  who  has  limbs  such  as  mine 
should  have  thoughts  such  as  mine.  There  was  a  dream 
of  freedom  among  the  nobles  of  ancient  Rome,  while 
they  rode  over  the  necks  of  their  barbarian  captives. 
Thou  hast  thy  dream  of  freedom  too,  Egiza,  when  thou 
hast  supped  plentifully.  The  dream  of  Pel  ay  o  is  not 
like  thine,  nor  yet  like  that  of  ancient  Rome — yet  it  is 
also  a  dream  of  freedom.  His  dream  of  liberty  shows 
it  all  alike — a  principle  like  truth,  such  as  no  season 
can  change,  no  condition  magnify  or  depress,  no  rule 
subjugate,  no  soul  avoid ;  whose  temple  is  of  universal 
adoration,  and  whose  light,  like  that  of  the  sun,  is  seen 
from  all  the  nations." 

"  Why,  thou  dost  dream,  surely.  What  meanest 
thou  by  this  freedom  ?"  asked  Egiza,  wondering. 

"  The  freedom  of  man." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?" 

"The  absence  of  that  necessity  which  imposes  a 
condition  upon  man  adverse  to  the  nature  within  him. 
He  is  no  slave  whose  intellect  is  not  beyond  his  condi- 
tion. He  is  a  slave  whose  ambition,  guided  by  a  just 
impulse  from  truth,  is  restrained  by  a  will  hostile  to  his 
own,  and  defrauding  him  of  his  right,  while  defeating  the 
purposes  of  the  God  who  made  him." 

"  Oh,  this  is  idle,  my  son ;  and  such  words,  which 
mean  nothing  or  little,  are  out  of  place  in  the  mouth  of 
a  noble  and  a  prince.  Thou  art,  indeed,  dreaming, 
Pelayo,"  said  the  archbishop. 

"  Thou  wilt  see — thou  wilt  see.  Oh,  would  thou 
couldst  dream  with  me,  Lord  Oppas — but  it  is  not  for 
the  sleek  churchman,  to  learn  how  godlike  is  the  sacri- 
fice which  the  noble  heart  can  make — how  vast  the 
labour  the  high  mind  can  compass — how  great  the  trial 
the  nerved  form  may  overcome  and  defy,  when  cheered 
by  such  a  vision  which  that  dream  affords  of  the  future. 
I  see  what  thou  canst  not.  I  hear  sounds  which  reach 
thee  not.  Know,  my  lord  bishop,  that  he  who  labours 
for  mankind  has  already  begun  his  immortality." 


80  PELAYO. 

"  Very  good — but  my  thoughts  are  not  so  foreign, 
my  son ;  and  such  as  thou  hast  were  better  discarded. 
They  will  profit  not  thy  cause." 

"  My  cause  ! — would  I  could  teach  it  thee.  Thou 
wouldst  use  me  for  thine.  I  purpose  to  do  the  same 
with  thee — not  for  my  cause,  not  for  thine,  save  only, 
as  we  both  make  a  part  of  that  condition  which  can  only 
be  happy  when  officered  by  the  truth.  My  cause  is  not 
the  cause  of  to-day,  but  of  time.  The  labour  of  to-day 
is  only  useful  to  my  cause,  as  it  belongs  to  man,  and  holds 
a  portion  of  the  hours  which  are  his  ;  and  the  individuals 
who  work  in  it  are  of  no  import  in  its  progress,  only  as 
they  precede  countless  generations  yet  to  come,  having 
their  feelings  and  thoughts,  and  subject  to  the  same  ne- 
cessities. The  error  of  all  thy  thought  is,  that  thou 
thinkest  only  of  to-day." 

"Well — and  enough  too.  But  then  thou  wilt  be 
here  to  the  time  V 

"  I  have  said." 

"  Shall  I  go  with  thee,  brother  ?" 

"  Stay,  and  keep  counsel  with  our  uncle,  Egiza.  Win 
him  to  give  thee  some  new  homily,  which  shall  serve  thee 
in  Heu  of  good  works,  when  thou  comest  to  the  throne." 

Pelayo  left  them,  and  Egiza,  with  Oppae,  proceeded 
to  the  palace  of  the  latter,  where  arrangements  were  to 
be  made  for  the  secret  reception  of  the  conspirators. 


XVII. 

AFTER  leaving  them,  Pelayo  went  forth  into  the 
country,  having  a  secret  object  and  without  a  thought, 
save  only  of  the  duty  he  had  before  him.  He  now 
rambled  along  a  narrow  valley,  on  either  hand  of  which 
rose  the  towering  sierras,  dark,  steep,  and  lonely.  The 
solemn  silence  of  the  scene  suited  well  with  his  musing 
temperament ;  but  his  meditations  were  interrupted  by 
the  sudden  appearance  of  a  steed,  bounding  with  head- 


PELAYO,  81 

long  course  along  the  Barrow  gorge,  and  making  directly 
towards  the  spot  on  which  he  stood.  As  he  approached, 
Pelayo  saw  that  he  had  been  recently  mounted,  and 
most  probably  had  thrown  his  rider,  for  the  saddle  wasi 
upon  his  back,  and  the  housings  were  all  in  order,  as 
for  a  journey.  Down,  as  the  steed  came  forward,  Pe- 
layo leaped  from  the  little  crag,  and  throwing  himself 
directly  upon  the  path  of  the  fugitive,  spoke  to  him  in  a 
voice  of  authority.  The  animal  stopped  at  the  instant, 
even  as  if  he  had  known  the  voice,  then  half  receded, 
and  lifted  his  head  in  air,  but  without  other  motion. 
Pelayo  advanced  and  seized  upon  his  bridle.  Another 
instant  found  him  upon  the  back  of  the  now  completely 
docile  animal,  and  turning  his  head  again  upon  the 
path  which  he  had  overrun,  the  prince  now  sought  with 
him  to  find  his  owner. 


XVIII. 

HE  soon  came  to  the  place  from  whence  the  fugitive 
had  fled — a  little  hollow  of  the  hills,  about  a  mile  from 
the  spot  where  Pelayo  had  arrested  him,  near  which 
bubbled  up  a  pure  fountain  of  water,  to  which  travellers 
in  that  wild  country  usually  bend  their  steps.  There, 
close  by  the  fountain,  lay  a  man  at  length,  his  head  rest- 
ing upon  the  arm  of  a  slender  page  that  knelt  beside  him. 
A  little  palfrey,  upon  which  the  boy  had  probably  ridden, 
stood  fastened  to  a  neighbouring  shrub.  As  Pelayo 
came  near,  he  saw  that  the  man  was  aged — his  beard 
was  venerably  long  and  white,  and  his  face  was  marked 
with  the  deep  lines  of  thought  and  experience.  He 
seemed  to  suffer  pain,  and  the  boy  was  busied  in  bind- 
ing up  a  wound  upon  his  head  with  a  sleeve  of  his  gar- 
ment. He  had  been  greatly  bruised  by  his  fall,  for  the 
horse  had  thrown  him ;  but  his  hurts  were  not  dangerous, 
though  the  concussion  which  his  head  had  sustained, 
coming  suddenly  upon  the  rock,  for  a  time  had  stunned 


2  PELAYO. 

him.  As  Pelayo  approached,  the  boy  spoke — the  eyes 
of  the  old  man  were  fixed  knowingly  upon  him,  while 
his  face  assumed  a  quick  expression,  and  he  half-raised 
himself  from  the  ground.  The  boy  continued  to  hold 
his  head,  with  a  tenderness  which  Pelayo  saw  even  more 
fully  expressed  in  his  pale  countenance  and  quivering 
lip,  than  in  the  solicitous  care  exhibited  by  his  actions. 

"  Thou  art  not  much  hurt,  father,  I  hope  ?"  said  Pe- 
layo, speaking  kindly,  while  fastening  the  fugitive  steed 
to  a  shrub. 

The  old  man  paused  a  few  seconds  before  he 
answered — all  the  while  surveying  the  young  prince 
with  an  earnest  penetration  of  glance,  which  at  length 
became  unpleasant  to  Pelayo,  who  now  repeated  the 
inquiry. 

"  Not  much,  not  much,  my  son,  I  thank  thee — but 
who  art  (hou,  and  how  hast  thou  chided  that  vicious 
beast  into  subjection  ?  He  hath  a  spirit  that  is  wrathful 
and  vexing." 

"  Not  so,  father,  thou  errest  in  thy  thought  of  this 
fine-eyed  Deserter.  He  is  a  true  Barbary,  and  is  not 
less  gentle  than  fleet  and  forward." 

"  Ah,  he  knows  his  master.  It  is  with  thee  he  is 
gentle — not  with  me.  Thou  hast  a  strange  power,  my 
son,  to  do  that  which  none  might  hope  to  do  before. 
See,  he  looks  to  thee  as  a  tame  thing  of  thy  household. 
Who  art  thou  ?  I  gaze  on  thee  again,  and  thy  features 
grow  full  in  memory.  Art  thou  not — " 

"  Nothing !» 

"  The  prince,  the  Prince  Pelayo — son  of  King 
Witiza !" 

"  The  same,  old  man.  A  name  not  oversafe  to  him 
who  utters — or  to  him  who  hears.  I  am  the  Prince 
Pelayo !" 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  speaker  again,  then  groan- 
ing audibly,  turned  his  face,  and  buried  it  for  a  moment 
in  the  arms  of  the  boy,  whose  looks  expressed  more 
than  usual  solicitude.  Pelayo,  who  suffered  none  of  this 


PELAYO.  83 

to  escape  him,  now  asked,  with  some  curiosity,  "  Who 
art  thou  ?" 

"  Ask  not— ask  not,  Pelayo.  To  thee,  I  should  be 
nameless,  even  as  thou  wouldst  have  thyself  to  me." 

"  And  wherefore,  father  1"  inquired  Pelayo,  with  in- 
creasing curiosity. 

"  Ay,  wherefore — wherefore  should  I  dread  my  fate  ? 
Why  should  I  longer  hold  life  a  thing  to  strive  for  ?  I 
will  tell  it  thee." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no !  Speak  it  not,  I  pray  thee,  my  father, 
speak  it  not  to  him."  Thus  interposing,  the  boy  threw 
his  arms  affectionately,  and  with  great  earnestness, 
around  the  neck  of  the  old  man,  and  sought  to  stay  his 
words  ;  but  the  sudden  determination  which  he  seemed 
to  have  made  was  invincible,  and  he  shook  off  the  boy, 
addressing  him  at  the  same  time  in  language,  which,  if 
not  ungracious,  was  at  least  stern. 

"  How  now,  boy — hast  thou  forgotten  ?  Go  to  thy 
place,  and  meddle  not  with  the  doings  of  thy  betters. 
Thou  wilt  mar,  where  I  would  make  thee." 

Meekly,  at  the  rebuke,  the  boy  sunk  back  behind 
the  speaker,  and,  with  arms  folded  upon  his  bosom, 
awaited  in  silence  the  progress  of  the  scene.  But  his 
interruption  had  led  Pelayo  to  look  more  narrowly  than 
he  had  done  before  to  the  features  of  the  attendant,  and 
he  now  saw  that  the  tearful  eyes  were  of  a  most  glorious 
and  glowing  black,  and  the  hair,  which  was  confined  by 
the  close  folds  of  a  cap,  not  unlike  the  turban  of  the 
Moors,  was  glossy  and  dark  as  that  masking  the  wing 
of  the  full-fledged  raven.  The  figure,  too,  though  ex- 
ceedingly slight,  was  distinguished  by  an  eminent  grace, 
and,  as  he  sank  down  upon  the  earth  with  humility, 
Pelayo  thought  his  attitude  and  expression  such  as  would 
have  delighted  Erzelias,  the  sweet  painter  of  the  Gothic 
court,  in  the  time  of  Witiza.  The  old  man  went  on 
with  his  speech  where  the  boy  had  interrupted  it. 

"  I  will  tell  thee  all,  my  prince,  though  I  should  be 
but  loath  to  tell  thee  any  thing,  if  I  had  not  long  since 


84  PELAYO. 

learned  to  compute  life — the  life  not  ready  for  quick 
sacrifice — as  a  poor  labour  for  a  profitless  spoil.  Thou 
shall  know  me.  My  name  is  Melchior.  Thou  hast 
heard  of  me  before." 

"  What !  Melchior  the  Hebrew  1 — Melchior,  as  thy 
people  call  thee,  of  the  Desert?' 

"  He — Melchior  of  the  Desert — Melchior  the  He- 
brew !" 

The  boy  clasped  his  hands,  and  threw  himself  for- 
ward to  the  old  man,  but  said  nothing.      Pelayo  recoiled, 
as  if  in  horror,  for  a  moment,  then  suddenly  and  fiercely 
exclaimed,  as  he  bared  his  dagger — 
"  And  what  if  I  slay  thee  on  the  spot !" 
"  Oh,  strike  not,  strike  not,  mighty  prince,  strike  not 
the  old  father !     See  his  white  hair,  and  the  blood  on  it ! 
His  limbs  totter — he  is  weak  and  old !     Strike  him  not, 
strike  him  not,  I  pray  thee  !" 

Thus  pleading,  the  boy  rushed  in  between,  and,  with 
uplifted  hands,  and  a  cheek  flushed  over  with  excite- 
ment, while  his  eyes  flowed  with  tears,  he  prayed  for 
mercy  for  the  aged  chief  of  a  despised  and  persecuted 
sect.  Pelayo  regarded  the  old  man  and  boy  alternately, 
and  though  possessed  of  many  of  the  prejudices  com- 
mon among  the  Christians  of  the  time,  which  held  the 
Jews  an  odious  race  on  many  accounts,  as  well  of  trade 
as  of  religion,  his  mind  was  too  superior  to  the  prejudices 
of  the  period,  too  noble  and  truly  chivalric,  not  to  for- 
bear. He  covered  up  his  steel,  and,  in  a  calmer  tone, 
thus  addressed  him — 

"  Melchior  of  the  Desert,  enemy  of  my  father,  of  my 
country,  and  of  me,  I  should  do  thee  but  faint  justice 
were  I  to  slay  thee,  even  on  the  ground  where  thou 
liest." 

"  I  am  not  thy  enemy,  Pelayo.  Thou  wrongest  me 
much  to  say  so.  Thou  art  as  one  sacred  in  the  sight 
of  Melchior  of  the  Desert." 

"  What !  thou  wouldst  lie  for  life,  too,  at  thy  years  ? 
For  shame,  old  man !  This  is  to  be  a  Hebrew.  Why 


PELAYO.  85 

shouldst  thou  hold  for  me  a  gentle  thought,  when  thou 
didst  hate  my  father?" 

"  Hear  me,  my  son.  I  say,  as  I  have  said  to  thee, 
thou,  Pelayo,  art  sacred  in  the  sight  of  Melchior  of  the 
Desert.  Even  as  thou  approached  to  me,  leading  that 
fierce  steed,  which  thy  one  word  had  tamed — then, 
though  a  thick  film  was  before  mine  eyes,  and  all  my 
senses  swam  in  a  dull  stupor,  from  my  many  hurts — 
even  then  I  saw  it." 

"  Saw  what]"  inquired  the  prince. 
'*  Yes,  even  then,  I  saw  the  green  wing  of  the  hum- 
ma,  the  sacred  bird  of  Heaven — such  as  the  Arab  sees 
— such  as  I  saw  once,  many  years  ago,  in  a  far  vision 
of  a  spring,  vouchsafed  me  in  the  desert — I  saw  it 
thrice  sweep  closely  round  thy  head,  and  straightway 
I  knew  thee  for  a  mighty  prince.  I  saw,  and  could  not 
doubt.  Then  I  knew  thou  wert  the  chosen  of  the  God 
of  Abraham,  to  be  the  king  of  thy  people.  Thou  art 
their  king,  and  whether  thou  strik'st  or  spar'st  me,  still 
Melchior  of  the  Desert  must  call  thee  king.  I  cannot 
be  thy  enemy." 

"  He  is  my  enemy  who  is  the  enemy  of  my  people." 
"  Am  I  not  one  of  thy  people  ?     Do  I  not  own  thee 
for  my  king  ?" 

"  Ay,  the  king  whom  thou  wouldst  betray  to  death, 
even  as  thou  didst  league  thy  accursed  sect  with  the 
Saracen,  to  destroy  my  father  and  my  people." 

"  I  did  league  with  the  Saracen — I  would  league  with 
the  Saracen  again,  that  the  enemies  of  man  should  not 
make  a  dog  of  him.  But  I  will  not  league  against 
thee." 

"  I  am  my  country's — so  wouldst  thou  be,  were  the 
ties  of  country  aught  to  a  spirit  so  base  as  marks  thy 
tribe." 

"  My  country !"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  bitterly — "  and 

what  is  my  country  ?  what  is  the  country  of  the  Hebrew? 

This  is  not  his  country.  The  ties  with  which  thou  wouldst 

bind  him  to  it  are  the  scourge  and  the  chain,  the  cruel 

VOL.  I.— H 


$6  PELAYO. 

taunt  and  the  unlimited  exaction.  These  are  the  ties 
of  country  to  my  tribe.  How  should  they  be  true  and 
faithful  to  the  rule  which  yields  them  for  sympathy 
the  stroke,  and  for  security  and  peace  all  manner  of  per- 
secution] I  have  leagued  with  the  Saracen  against  the 
tyranny  of  the  land — the  tyranny  that  was  death  unto 
my  people." 

"  And  didst  thou  hope  for  a  kinder  sway  from  the 
children  of  the  accursed  Mahound  1" 

"  Hear  me,  Prince  Pelayo.  Melchior  of  the  Desert 
has  wandered  with  the  Saracen  in  his  tents,  as  his  cap- 
tive and  his  slave :  and  though  cruel  is  captivity  by 
whatever  name,  and  softened  by  whatever  indulgence, 
yet  was  it  with  the  Saracen  a  gentle  providence, 
when  compared  with  the  intolerance  of  the  Christian  rule. 
I  speak  to  thee  as  one  who  may  soon  be  gathered  to 
his  fathers,  having  no  hope  from  the  judgment  of  Jeho- 
vah, but  from  his  justice.  My  words  are  those  of  truth, 
even  though  the  grave  were  open  before  me.  The 
practice  of  the  Saracen  was  the  Christian  faith — the 
Christian  practice  to  the  Hebrew  were  worthy  of  the 
name  of  terror  and  of  cruelty  thou  hast  given  to  the 
Saracen." 

u  I  fear  me,  Melchior,  much  thou  hast  spoken  of  the 
Goth  is  sorely  true,  and  sadly  do  our  people  now  bear 
testimony  to  the  error  which  overreaches  the  land.  The 
Jew  is  hardly  dealt  with,  and  I  know  there  can  be  no 
faith  where  there  is  no  trust.  To  hold  thee  bound  in 
honour  to  thy  country,  thou  shouldst  possess  thy  coun- 
try's confidence." 

"  Thou  hast  spoken,  Prince  Pelayo,  as  a  prince  should 
speak — with  the  thought  of  a  father  for  his  people. 
Thou  lookest,  with  me,  beyond  the  high  hills,  and 
through  the  thick  clouds  that  keep  other  men  from  the 
distant  truth.  Thy  thought  is  the  true  wisdom.  All 
that  the  Hebrew  claims — all  that  is  claimed  by  Melchior 
of  the  Desert — from  the  land  that  asks  his  service,  is,  its 
confidence.  But  give  it  him — keep  it  not  back  from 


PELAYO.  87 

Vim — let  him  but  know  he  has  a  country,  by  her  trust, 
her  love,  her  care  in  his  concern,  and  not,  as  now,  by 
scorn,  wrong,  and  all  manner  of  oppression — let  him 
know  this,  my  prince,  and  not  a  Christian  dwells 
throughout  Spain  shall  better  serve  her — with  a  truer 
love,  or  a  more  perfect  fidelity.  He  will  not  shrink 
from  her  battles — he  will  glory  that  he  may  range  under 
her  banner.  Her  pride  shall  be  his  own — her  fortune 
as  much  his  care,  and  as  well  worthy  preserving,  in  his 
thought,  as  they  may  seem  to  any  of  the  proud  nobles, 
who  now  cry  aloud  against  him." 

"  Could  I  think  this,  Melchior,  as  thou  hast  said  it," 
replied  Pelayo,  musingly,  to  the  old  man,  who  had 
grown  warmed  by  his  feelings,  and  now  hastily  answered, 
half  rising  from  the  ground — 

"Believe  me — I  will  swear.  The  great  God  of 
Israel  shall  hear  the  solemn  promise  that  I  now  make 
thee  for  my  whole  tribe.  Not  a  Jew  of  Toledo  that 
will  not  move  at  Melchior's  bidding.  Thou  shalt  see 
— I  swear  for  them.  Thou  little  know'st  my  people, 
Prince  Pelayo.  How  glad  were  they  to  learn  they  had 
a  country — how  glad  to  die  for  it." 

"  And  for  a  rule  that  brings  them  to  this  knowledge — 
for  one  which  gives  them  the  same  freedom  with  the  rest, 
to  hold  their  faith  and  wealth — their  several  thoughts — 
to  shape  themselves  in  life — pursue  their  venture, 
whether  in  worship,  or  in  toil,  or  trade,  each  with  his 
single  mood,  with  no  restraint,  save  of  the  wholesome 
laws  that  all  obey — for  this  thou'lt  pledge  thyself?" 

"  Ay !  I  swear  it  all !  My  arm,  my  wealth,  my 
people — all  shall  swear.  Say  but  this  word  to  them, 
and  be  their  king." 

"Not  I,  their  king.  My  brother  holds  the  right. 
'Tis  he  shall  promise  this." 

"Ha!  not  thou?  I  tell  thee,  Prince  Pelayo,  thou 
art  he— thou  only  can'st  do  this.  Thou  shalt  be  king 
of  thy  people.  Have  I  not  seen  it  ?  I  may  not  doubt 
the  promise  which  has  shown  it  me,  when,  at  thy  first 


88  PELAYO. 

coming,  the  green  wing  of  that  bird  of  Heaven  shadowed 
thy  rising  forehead  with  its  glory.  Thou  wilt  be  king 
of  Spain." 

Pelayo  searched  the  venerable  speaker  narrowly  with 
his  eyes,  and  plainly  saw  that  he  spoke  in  all  sincerity. 
The  wild  oriental  faith  in  the  crown-giving  wing  of  the 
humma,  the  fabulous  bird  of  the  desert,  was  strong  in 
the  soul  of  him  who  had  dwelt  for  so  long  a  season  in 
the  tents  of  the  Arab ;  nor  was  the  belief  of  the  Chris- 
tians, at  that  time,  much  less  certain  on  the  same  sub- 
ject. The  Prince  Pelayo,  however,  was  superior  to  the 
superstition,  and  he  calmly  enough  replied  to  the  speaker, 
whose  manner  had  become  rapt  in  due  correspondence 
with  the  strain  of  enthusiasm  which  had  fallen  from 
his  lips. 

"No,  Melchior,  none  of  this.  My  brother  Egiza 
shall  ascend  the  throne,  and  his  power  shall  do  for  thee 
and  thy  people  as  I  have  said.  It  will  be  to  thee  and 
them  the  same,  if  thou  wilt  make  the  same  pledge  to  his 
rule  as  thou  profferest  to  mine.  What  force  mightst 
thou  array?" 

"  Three  thousand  men.  Not  practised,  as  thou 
know'st — not  skilled  in  arms.  The  stern  sway  of  thy 
father  took  greatly  from  the  ancient  valour  of  the 
Hebrew.  But  they  will  follow  and  fight  for  thee,  so 
thou  wilt  lead  them." 

"  Will  they  not  for  my  brother  ?" 

"  Ay,  for  the  king  who  does  as  thou  hast  promised." 

"  Thyself  shall  lead  them.  They  will  follow  thee. 
I  know  thy  power  over  them  of  old,  when  thy  rash  call 
unto  the  Saracen  brought  them  to  that  peril  which  at- 
tends thee  now." 

"  Yes,  even  now  I  fly — a  fugitive.  My  head  is  for- 
feit. But  if  thou,  my  prince,  wilt  move  thy  brother  to 
the  thought  thou  speak'st,  old  Melchior  will  not  fear  the 
foes  that  hunt  him.  My  beard  is  white,  but  look  upon 
mine  arm.  The  cimeter  is  pleasant  in  my  grasp,  and 


FELAYO.  89 

let  me  know  the  country  I  may  strike  for — I  shall  grow 
young  again." 

"  Thou  shalt  know  this,  and  grasp  the  cimeter  against 
the  bloody-minded  Roderick.  Egiza  shall  requite  thee 
with  a  pledge.  Come,  go  with  me.  Give  me  thy  arm 
— I'll  help  thee  to  thy  horse,  which  is  now  gentle. 
What  means  the  boy  V 

Thus  Pelayo  spoke,  and  the  old  man  was  about  to 
accept  the  proffered  assistance,  when  the  page,  who  had 
all  the,  while  been  a  silent  but  attentive  listener,  now 
arose  hurriedly,  and  pressing  between  the  prince  and 
Melchior,  sought,  by  the  substitution  of  his  arm,  to  ren- 
der unnecessary  that  of  Pelayo.  At  the  movement, 
the  old  man  seemed  to  be  conscious,  too,  of  the  impro- 
priety of  which  he  should  be  guilty,  were  he  to  task  the 
aid  of  a  Christian,  in  contact  with  one  of  a  people,  at 
that  period  regarded  in  a  light  the  most  offensively 
odious. 

"  Now  what  means  this  ?"  inquired  Pelayo,  with  some 
surprise.  "  The  boy  is  weak,  Melchior,  and  cannot 
help  thee." 

"  Pardon  me,  prince — 'twould  not  beseem  thy  name, 
thy  race,  thy  Christian  blood — thou'dst  vex  at  what  thou 
hadst  done." 

The  boy  spoke  hurriedly,  but  with  an  appearance  of 
gratification  still  in  his  countenance,  which  sufficiently 
proved  that  the  fear  of  impropriety,  and  not  a  feeling  of 
aversion,  prompted  his  interposition. 

"  Thou  little  know'st  Pelayo,  boy.  Thou'lt  learn  in 
time.  Come,  Melchior — there — thy  page  is  "forward 
though.  Is  he  thy  son  ?" 

"  He  is — he  is,  my  lord.  He  is  a  gentle  lad.  A 
good — back,  Lamech,  back." 

,  The  old  man  answered  confusedly,  and  the  boy,  as 
he  spoke,  proceeded  to  mount  his  own  palfrey.  In  the 
mean  time  Melchior  was  firmly  seated,  with  the  aid  of 
Pelayo,  and  his  majestic  and  venerable  form,  at  its 
fullest  height,  seemed  to  have  been  greatly  inspirited  by 
H2 


90  PELAYO. 

the  prospect  held  forth  to  his  ears  of  his  people's  re- 
demption. He  now  proceeded  to  describe  the  place  of 
his  concealment  in  the  neighbouring  city  of  Cordova,  so 
that  Pelayo  should  not  fail  to  find  him ;  and  having 
promised  to  go  with  the  prince,  that  night,  to  a  meeting 
of  the  conspirators  arranged  to  take  place  at  the  palace 
of  the  Archbishop  Oppas,  they  separated — Melchior, 
with  Lamech,  proceeding  in  the  direction  of  the  city, 
and  Pelayo  taking  a  path  leading  from  it. 


XIX. 

WITH  the  approach  of  night,  the  Prince  Pelayo,  as 
had  been  agreed  upon,  proceeded  to  the  dwelling  of 
Melchior  of  the  Desert,  under  the  guidance  of  the  page 
Lamech,  who  had  been  despatched  by  his  father  to  the 
prince  for  this  purpose.  The  boy  was  now  differently 
attired  from  what  he  was  when  Pelayo  had  first  seen 
him  ;  and  the  prince  could  not  help  remarking  the  ex- 
ceeding and  effeminate  beauty  of  his  face  and  person. 
His  eyes  were  dark — dark  and  glittering.  His  hair  was 
smooth,  like  that  of  a  girl,  and  of  a  rich  black — glossy 
beside,  and  fine  as  the  most  delicate  silk.  His  figure 
was  so  slender,  it  might  have  been  thought  almost  too 
ethereal  for  mortality,  and  so  symmetrical  that  the  eye 
always  looked  for  it  again,  as  if  for  a  thing  that  was 
necessary. 

"Thou  art  but  a  child,  Lamech,"  said  the  prince, 
kindly,  "  to  engage  in  toil  like  this.  Are  not  thy  limbs 
weary  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  my  lord,  they  never  weary  when  my  heart 
goes  along  with  them,"  was  the  gentle  response,  uttered 
by  the  lips  of  a  childish  innocence. 

"  'Tis  a  right  spirit  thou  hast,  and  God  hold  thee  in 
it,  boy ;  but  these  are  dangerous  seasons  for  the  mild. 
Thy  meekness  will  put  thee  at  the  feet  of  bad  men,  who 
will  ever  trample  upon  thee,  if  thy  ready  weapon  teaches 


PKLAYO.  91 

them  not  to  fear.     Thou  wilt  find  it  wise  to  lift  steel 
when  thou  get'st  more  years." 

"  And  so  I  have  learned  already,  my  lord.  See — 
my  arm  is  weak,  I  know,  but  I  am  strong  in  heart ;  and 
with  this  dagger,  methinks  I  could  teach  the  insolent 
man  a  goodly  lesson." 

He  disengaged  from  his  tunic,  as  he  spoke,  a  small 
and  richly-ornamented  poniard,  which  had  been  hitherto 
concealed  within  its  folds,  and  nothing  could  have  looked 
more  pretty  or  more  amusing  in  the  sight  of  Pelayo, 
than  the  glow  of  valour  in  the  eyes  of  one  so  exceed- 
ingly effeminate  and  slight  of  form.  The  prince 
smiled  slightly  as  he  replied — 

"  It  is  well  that  thou'rt  provided,  boy ;  but  hold 
it  no  slight  to  thy  valour,  if  I  counsel  thee  to  a  greater 
gain  of  strength  than  thou  hast.  Why,  what  would  thy 
arm  do  in  a  stroke  with  mine,  even  though  mine  carried 
no  weapon,  and  thou  wert  ready  with  thy  steel  ?" 

The  boy  looked  at  the  extended  arm  with  a  glance 
expressive  of  innocent  admiration,  as  he  surveyed  the 
knotted  muscles,  that,  swelling  here  and  there  into  hills, 
indicated  the  great  strength  of  the  owner.  But  his  fea- 
tures underwent  a  change  corresponding  with  the  active 
movement  of  his  thought. 

"  Why  is  thine  eye  sorrowful  ? — thou  weepest,  boy," 
said  the  prince,  curiously. 

"  It  is  a  child's  weakness,  my  lord — when  I  thought 
of  thy  strength,  I  thought  how  thou  wouldst  use  it. 
Thou  wilt  go  into  the  battle,  where  the  spear  strikes, 
and  the  sword  cleaves ;  and  what  were  thy  strength 
then  ?" 

"  All,  boy !  It  is  then  that  I  will  strike — then  will 
*my  strength  avail  for  conquest." 

t  "  Ah,  but  my  father.  It  is  thus  Melchior  speaks  to — 
to  Lamech.  Thus  went  he  in  fight  against  the  Saracen, 
when  they  made  him  captive,  and  he  led  the  camels  in 
the  long  march  of  the  desert.  I  was  but  a  child  then, 
but  I  remember." 


92  PELAYO. 

"  Thou  hast  had  an  ill  chance  of  fortune,  boy.  Weii 
thou  a  captive,  too,  with  thy  father?" 

"  For  three  long  years  ;  but  I  chafed  not  in  my  cap- 
tivity, for  the  Saracen  was  tender,  and  had  pity  on  my 
youth.  They  gave  me  no  task  which  was  not  a  plea- 
sure, and  they  taught  me  much  that  they  knew.  I 
learned  to  read  the  stars  in  their  teaching,  and  to  heed 
their  language  ;  and  many  a  song  they  taught  me,  when 
we  lay,  at  the  warm  noon,  in  the  camel's  shadow,  made 
my  heart  soften  so  that  I  forgot — shame  on  me  that  I 
did — that  my  father  wasja  captive." 

"  And  thou  hast  always  been  with  Melchior  V 

"Ever  since  I  knew  him.  They  were  kind — the 
Saracen — when  they  made  us  captive,  for  they  did  not 
part  the  father  from  his  child." 

•*  How  old  art  thou  now,  Lamech  ?" 

"  Sixteen,  my  father  tells  me.  But  I  am  much  older 
than  that,  I  know." 

"  How !     What  dost  thou  mean  ?" 

"  Oh,  sometimes  I  have  lived  two  days  at  a  time,  and 
then  I  learned  all  that  I  know." 

"  Indeed ! — but  art  sure  thou  knowest  where  thou 
lead'st  me  ?  I  know  not  this  place.  It  looks  strange 
to  me." 

"  Quite  sure,  my  lord.  I  know  it  by  day  and  night, 
the  same.  It  is  the  suburb  of  the  Hebrews." 

"  Ha !  Well,  I  am  pledged  for  this,  and  must  go  on." 
As  he  spoke,  Pelayo  crossed  himself  with  an  air  of 
strict  devotion ;  then  continued,  "  And  the  Christian 
does  not  often  come  to  this  quarter  of  Cordova  ?" 

"  Only  when  he  seeks  for  money,"  was  the  reply, 
uttered  in  a  tone  of  deep  emotion,  and  with  a  subdued 
sternness  of  accent,  which  showed  a  larger  share  of 
character  in  the  speaker  than  his  previous  language  had 
led  Pelayo  to  anticipate.  The  prince  gazed  on  him 
earnestly,  but  the  eyes  of  the  boy  were  busy  in  his 
progress. 

The  two  now  pursued  their  way  through  a  strangely 


PELAYO.  93 

clustering  assemblage  of  small  and  uncouth  dwellings. 
The  owners  had  been  studious,  it  would  seem,  to  avoid 
any  show  of  external  splendour  in  their  habitations. 
The  assessor  came  too  frequently,  and  was  satisfied  with 
too  much  difficulty,  not  to  compel  a  due  forbearance  on 
the  part  of  the  wretched  Israelites,  of  all  those  exhibi- 
tions of  wealth,  which,  as  it  was,  they  could  not  often 
conceal.  No  one  not  familiar  with  that  people  would 
have  looked  for  its  possession  in  the  quarter  of  the  city 
through  which  Pelayo  now  made  his  way.  Silence  and 
an  air  of  unnatural  repose  was  over  all ;  and  the  occa- 
sional light,  shining  stealthily  through  the  crevice  of  the 
household,  was  hurriedly  obscured  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  approaching  feet.  Thus  moving,  they  came  at 
length  to  a  long  low  dwelling,  crowded  in  by  others,  all 
larger  and  more  imposing  to  the  eye,  yet  all  around,  in 
some  way  or  other,  connected  with  that  to  which  they 
now  advanced.  A  slight  tap  upon  the  door,  by  the  hand 
of  Lamech,  obtained  for  them  admittance,  and  passing 
through  a  long  and  dimly-lighted  gallery,  they  entered  a 
spacious  court,  over  which  they  moved  in  a  direct  line, 
and  Pelayo  then  found  himself  in  another  passage, 
equally  dark  and  narrow  with  that  which  he  had  just 
left.  He  might  have  thought  the  boy  had  mistaken  his 
way,  but  for  the  unhesitating  progress  which  he  made, 
and  the  knowledge  which  he  had  then  in  his  memory 
of  the  exceeding  necessity  for  caution  on  the  part  of  one 
so  much  in  danger,  and  whose  arrest  was  so  desirable, 
as  that  of  the  man  he  sought.  Pressing  on,  therefore, 
with  a  speed  that  still  at  times  left  him  short  of  his  con- 
ductor, he  at  length  ascended  a  flight  of  winding  stairs, 
which  carried  him  into  a  small  chamber.  Here  he 
paused  while  the  boy  tapped  upon  an  inner  door.  He 
heard  a  hum  of  retiring  voices  before  it  was  opened, 
but  in  the  next  moment  he  was  ushered  into  the  apajt- 
meat 


94  PELAYO. 


XX. 

THE  eyes  of  Pelayo  were  almost  dazzled  by  the  gay 
lights  and  the  gorgeous  shows  around  him.  Costly 
drapery,  splendid  mirrors  of  polished  steel,  and  furniture 
of  inlaid  work,  such  as  the  eye  of  the  Moor  loved  to 
rest  upon,  were  clustering  in  every  form  beneath  his 
sight.  Rich  ornaments  of  massive  gold,  sparkling  gems, 
and  a  thousand  glowing  forms  of  luxury,  which,  however 
natural  to  the  view  of  one  born  and  once  living  as  a 
prince,  were  yet  altogether  unanticipated  in  the  spot 
where  he  now  found  them.  It  was  thus  that  the  perse- 
cuted Jew  endeavoured  to  indulge  his  own  eyes  in  those 
luxuries  which  he  might  not  dare  to  expose  to  the  eyes 
of  others.  It  was  thus  that  he  strove  to  satisfy  himself, 
by  an  extravagant  crowding  of  his  wealth  around  him, 
for  the  thousand  privations  he  was  compelled  to  undergo 
in  his  commerce  with  the  world. 

"Thou  art  gloriously  provided,  Melchior,  and  may 
not  repine  for  thy  losses,"  said  the  prince. 

The  old  man  sighed  as  he  answered,  "  These  are 
vanities,  my  prince,  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  and  grateful  to 
the  thoughts  of  children  only.  The  wealth  of  gold  and 
of  gems — of  the  rich  robe  and  the  glowing  wines— what 
are  these  to  the  sad  heart  ?  to  the  fettered  spirit  ?  to  the 
soul  denied  its  exercise  ?  to  the  form  denied  its  free- 
dom? Thou  hast  never  known  this  bondage  of  the 
spirit,  my  prince :  thou  hast  not  felt  this  denial — this 
worst  doom  that  can  fall  upon  the  nation  or  the  man. 
This  wealth  is  none  of  mine.  Melchior  of  the  Desert  has 
only  its  wilderness  and  the  privilege  to  roam  in  it,  in  mo- 
mentary fear  of  the  Saracen's  sabre — yet  is  it  dearer  to 
him,  this  condition,  than  all  the  enjoyment  of  the  wealth 
thou  seest.  Thou  shalt  judge  how  the  Jew  values,  the 
freedom  thou  hast  promised  Melchior,  when  I  tell  thee 
that  all  this  wealth  is  subject  to  thy  word  in  the  war 


PELAYO.  95 

thou  shalt  wage  with  the  tyrant  Roderick.  Nor  is  this 
all.  The  Jew  shall  bring  from  every  city  in  Spain — 
from  Toledo,  from  Seville,  from  mountain  and  valley — 
he  shall  bring  thee  his  vessels  of  gold  and  of  silver,  his 
rich  silks,  and  the  carefully-hidden  jewels  so  dear,  as 
the  Christians  think  them,  to  his  best  affection.  Thou 
seest.  They  are  thine  !  Now  am  I  ready  to  go  with 
thee  where  they  talk  of  strife  against  the  enslaver  of  my 
people." 

"  Father,  shall  I  go  with  thee  V  spoke  the  boy,  com- 
ing forward. 

"  Thou  wilt  stay,  Lamech.  It  is  men  alone  that  can 
go  with  the  Prince  Pelayo.  Stay  !" 

The  boy  pressed  his  hand,  and  shrunk  back  hurriedly; 
but  an  instant  after,  coming  forward,  whispered  thus,  in 
a  language  unknown  to  Pelayo : 

"  The  prince  is  a  sweet  noble,  and  speaks  kindly. 
He  will  not  chide  that  I  go." 

"But  others  will,  my  child,  Lamech — others  will. 
Stay,  and  fear  not.  I  will  not  keep  from  thee  long." 

The  boy  followed  them  to  the  door,  and  watched  their 
forms  until  the  turn  of  the  long  avenue  took  them  out 
of  his  sight. 


XXI. 

FROM  the  dwelling  of  Melchior,  they  proceeded  at 
once  to  that  of  the  archbishop,  where,  by  this  time, 
generally  assembled,  the  conspirators  awaited  the  princes. 
Taking  a  route  less  indirect  than  that  by  which  he  had 
come,  Pelayo  followed  his  conductor  into  the  street,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  they  reached  the  palace  of  Oppas. 

In  a  secluded  and  low-vaulted  chamber,  the  enemies 
of  the  usurper,  each  having  his  own  peculiar  wrong  to 
avenge,  not  less  than  that  of  his  country,  were  crowded 
together.  They  were  a  small,  but  trustworthy  band — • 
fierce  in  the  assertion  and  faithful  in  the  maintenance 


96  PELAYO. 

of  their  rights.  A  mean  lamp,  suspended  from  the  ceik 
ing,  gave  a  sufficient  degree  of  light  to  enable  the  eye 
to  take  in  the  dim  outline  of  their  several  persons,  and 
possibly  the  darker  expression  of  their  faces,  but  little 
more  ;  and  this,  perhaps,  is  quite  as  much  as  conspiracy 
at  any  time  calls  for,  however  laudable  its  object.  Here, 
half  impatient  that  the  leaders  of  their  enterprise  had 
not  as  yet  made  their  appearance,  they  discussed  their 
plans  of  conduct  and  their  resources,  uttered  their 
several  causes  of  complaint,  and  spared  not  their  threats 
of  vengeance.  From  group  to  group,  among  them,  the 
archbishop  moved  continually,  studiously  infusing  into 
their  minds,  so  far  as  he  could,  his  own  particular  thoughts. 
He  was  a  dark,  cold,  designing  man — a  restless  malig- 
nant. With  a  thirst  of  power,  which  had  always  engaged 
him  in  mischief,  he  was  now  earnest  rather  to  promote 
his  own  than  the  interest  of  the  princes.  The  honour- 
able spirit  which  was  their  prompter  was  not  his,  and 
he  rather  feared  that  of  Pelayo  in  particular.  He  had 
no  love  for  them,  and  little  cared  for  their  father's,  his 
brother's,  memory;  but  he  professed  much,  for  their 
name  and  cause  were  essential  to  his  purpose.  He 
dared  not  offend  them  ;  and  with  a  spirit  of  hypocrisy, 
which  was  his  nature,  while  seeking  to  excuse  or  to 
account  for  their  absence,  took  care  to  urge  upon  the 
attending  nobles  his  own  views  of  what  would  be  their 
best  course  of  proceeding.  He  was  interrupted  in  this 
work  by  (he  entrance  of  Pelayo,  whose  appearance  was 
instantly  hailed  with  a  murmur  of  applause,  which  well 
testified  the  favourable  opinion  of  those  around  him. 

"Thanks,  noble  gentlemen,  thanks.  Your  love  is 
much  to  us  in  our  humility.  We  are  too  poor  now  to 
offer  more  than  this  ;  but  there  will  come  a  time,  when, 
with  your  own  good  arms  to  aid  us,  we  shall  work  out  a 
better  estate  for  all.  How,  my  Lord  Oppas,  where  is 
Egiza  ?" 

*'  Has  he  not  been  with  thee,  my  son  ?" 


PELAYO.  97 

"  Not  since  the  morning.  You  took  note  of  him.  I 
left  him  with  you,  and  looked  to  find  him  here.'* 

"  He  staid  not  with  me  long ;  but,  as  if  impatient  for 
other  tasks,  he  broke  away,  and  gave  no  word,  save  that 
the  night  should  find  him  at  our  meeting.  Yet  is 
he  not." 

"  Laggard  !  but  we  must  on.  What  is  our  purpose, 
uncle  ? — have  you  spoken  ?" 

"  Yes — but  most  briefly.  Some  of  them  are  firm — 
all  of  them  with  us.  But  who  have  you  here,  my  son  ?" 
Oppas,  as  he  spoke,  pointed  to  Melchior,  and  Pelayo 
then  turned  to  the  spot  where  the  old  man  stood  behind 
him  in  waiting,  and  motioned  his  advance,  while  reply- 
ing to  the  inquiry — Melchior,  as  he  spoke,  advancing 
sufficiently  forward  to  stand,  at  the  moment  of  his  reply, 
in  the  fullest  glare  of  the  lamp. 

"  Look  on  him,  my  Lord  Oppas — gentlemen.  Do  ye 
know  this  man  ?" 

"  We  do  not,"    was  the  reply. 

"  Know  him  from  me.  This  man,  once  the  deadly 
enemy  of  my  father  and  of  our  country,  I  have  made 
bold  to  bring  among  you  as  our  friend.  I  look  to  have 
you  hail  hirn  so.  This  is  Melchior  of  the  Desert !" 

"  Ha !"  was  the  exclamation  of  the  nobles,  and  the 
greater  number  shrunk  away  as  from  a  polluted  and  pol- 
luting presence.  The  high,  dark  brow  of  the  Hebrew 
gathered  into  a  momentary  scowl,  while  his  lips  curled 
into  something  like  scorn  ;  but  the  expression  passed 
off  in  an  instant,  and  in  another  he  had  resumed  the 
habitual,  calm,  almost  melancholy  look  of  benevolence, 
which  he  commonly  wore. 

"  How  ! — son  Pelayo,  is  it  the  Hebrew — the  slayer 
of  his  God — the  foul  and  beastly  infidel,  thou  wouldst 
bring  into  the  presence  of  Christian  nobles — even  in 
close  neighbourhood  with  the  humble  servant  of  Christ? 
Is  this  thy  pride  of  lineage,  my  son  ?  What  scorn  is 
this  that  thou  wouldst  put  upon  thy  friends  and  people  V9 
VOL.  I — I 


98  PELAYO. 

The  archbishop,  as  he  spoke,  crossed  himself  with  an 
air  of  the  profoundest  devotion. 

"No  scorn — my  lord  bishop,  and  most  Christian 
uncle — no  scorn,  but  rather  good  service.  I  bring 
Melchior  of  the  Desert  to  your  knowledge,  and  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  friends  I  see  around  me,  as  one  willing 
and  able  to  do  much  for  our  cause.  He,  too,  is  a  suf- 
ferer by  the  tyrant  who  now  sways  the  land — he  is  here 
to  strike  with  us  that  Roderick  shall  fall  from  his 
usurped  throne ;  and  it  is  something  new  to  me,  good 
uncle,  that  thy  Christian  spirit,  which  has  not  shamed 
ere  this  to  employ  many  unchristian  and  unworthy 
agents  in  the  doing  of  works  we  may  not  always  con- 
sider good,  should  scruple  now  to  achieve  a  good  and 
glorious  work  with  the  unworthy  instrument,  if  he  be 
such,  whom  I  now  bring  you." 

"  It  is  an  unholy  agent  thou  wouldst  give  us,  Pelayo, 
and  as  an  humble  follower  of  Christ,  I  am  not  free  to 
counsel  that  we  accept  it,"  replied  Oppas,  who,  unscru- 
pulous enough  in  almost  every  thing  else,  yet  felt  that 
his  profession,  at  that  period,  derived  its  chief  import- 
ance by  earnestly  encouraging  a  most  bigoted  hatred 
to  all  forms  of  infidelity.  To  do  murder  for  his  cause 
was  legitimate  enough,  but  it  was  grossly  unbecoming 
in  a  Christian  to  employ  a  Jew  for  that  purpose. 

"  I  ask  not  for  thy  counsel,  my  Lord  Oppas.  It  is 
to  these  nobles  I  submit — " 

"  And  they  will  refuse,"  cried  the  archbishop,  inter- 
rupting him — "  they  will  refuse  all  hand  in  a  strife,  if 
the  Jew  be  there." 

"  Let  me  speak,  I  pray  you,"  was  the  deliberate  and 
calm  reply  of  the  prince,  as  he  turned  to  the  nobles, 
many  of  whom  showed  quite  as  much  reluctance  to  ac- 
cept the  aid  of  the  Hebrew  as  did  the  archbishop,  and 
were  indeed,  most  probably,  influenced  by  his  expressed 
determination. 

"  Speak  on,  Pelayo,"  said  one  ;  "  let  us  hear  thy 
thought,  and  why  thou  bring'st  us  a  Hebrew  for  a  fellow, 


PELAYO.  99 

and  he  too  one  of  our  land's  enemies.  Did  he  not  be- 
tray Auria  to  the  Moor  ?  owe  we  not  to  him  the  rise  in 
battle  of  five  thousand  of  his  base  tribe?  and  how  should 
we  trust  in  one  who  has  been  so  false  before  ?" 

"  Count  Eudon,  you  speak  fairly.  Hear  to  me. 
This  morning  did  I  meet  with  Melchior  first,  and  my 
first  thought  was  to  slay  him,  as  the  enemy  of  my  father 
and  my  country — " 

"  A  good  thought — Heaven  had  given  thee  bliss, 
Pelayo,  hadst  thou  but  done  it."  And  as  he  spoke,  the 
archbishop  again  devoutly  crossed  himself,  and  muttered 
a  prayer  half  audible  to  the  crowd.  This  was  one  of 
the  thousand  arts  of  the  venerable  superstition. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  break  upon  me  thus  again,  my  Lord 
Oppas,  unless  thou  seek'st  for  rude  answer  in  acknow- 
ledgment. My  mood  is  something  stern  to-night  al- 
ready, and  thy  chafings  make  it  not  smoother.  I  pro- 
ceed, Count  Eudon.  My  thought  was  harsh  like  thine, 
and  in  my  first  feeling  I  would  have  slain  him,  but  that 
he  made  his  proffer  of  good  faith." 

"  Did  you  believe  him,  prince  ?"  was  the  inquiry  of 
one  of  the  nobles. 

"  I  am  not  moved  to  this  warfare  against  Roderick 
by  my  own  loss  of  right  or  that  of  Egiza ;  but  by  a 
sense  of  wrong  that,  in  my  own  feeling,  tells  of  my 
country's  suffering.  The  men  of  Spain  are  men — I 
hold  them  so — the  rich  and  poor  alike — and,  more  than 
this,  I  care  not  for  their  creed.  Let  them  pray  or  not 
— believe  or  not,  if  that  they  wrong  no  law  that's  based 
on  reason — if  that  they  keep  their  faith  unto  their  coun- 
try— the  country  that  protects  and  watches  for  them— 
ithey  are  alike  to  me.  In  this  I  speak  for  Melchior — 
for  the  Jew — so  does  my  brother  speak.  I  speak  for 
him ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  sound  unto  your  sense,  I 
freely  say,  Lord  Oppas,  that  you,  not  less  than  this  old 
Hebrew,  are  no  Christian.  The  faith  of  Christ  is  that 
of  liberty.  It  teaches  that  the  religion  of  mankind  must 
spring  from  each  man's  reason— it  so  requires  that  he 


100  PELAYO. 

shall  have  free  thought,  and  no  restraint  to  make  his 
reason  yours,  save  as  he  comes  to  it  of  his  free  will  and 
unimpeded  conscience.  Thinking  thus,  the  Jew  shall 
be  a  fellow  with  the  Goth,  held  equally  in  estimation  of 
Pelayo.  So,  too,  my  brother  speaks." 

"  Strange  thought,  indeed,  Pelayo;  but  if  you  make 
the  Hebrew  thus  secure,  how  will  you  make  him  true — 
how  bind  him  to  you  ]" 

"  Tour's  is  a  narrow  spirit,  good  mine  uncle.  We 
elevate  the  soul  when  we  do  trust  it,  degrading  when  we 
doubt.  But  now  apart.  In  your  ear,  good  gentlemen, 
I  pray  leave  to  whisper  more." 

Then  taking  aside  a  few  of  the  leading  nobles,  to- 
gether with  the  bishop,  he  whispered  to  them  as  follows, 
urging  more  selfish  considerations  upon  them. 

"  Hear  to  my  reason,  gentlemen,  for  this  confidence 
we  give  the  Hebrew.  He  may  not  choose  but  be 
Roderick's  foe,  for  Roderick  has  proscribed  him.  A 
price  is  set  upon  his  head — makes  him  a  common  mark 
— and  by  the  decree  of  the  usurper,  whoso  shall  keep 
him  safe  shall  suffer  death  and  forfeiture  of  goods. 
This  makes  him  ours.  To  be  true  to  us  is  to  be  true 
to  himself,  for  we  are  the  enemies  of  his  enemy.  It 
were  his  policy  to  strike  for  us.  Thus  we  may  trust 
him.  Then  he  brings  us  the  gold  which  otherwise  our 
coffers  would  lack  knowledge  of.  Smacks  not  such 
promise  sweetly  to  your  sense  1  To  me,  more  than  all 
this,  he  proffers  in  our  battle  a  strong  force — three  thou- 
sand fighting  men — good  subjects  we  shall  make  them 
— ready  to  follow  as  his  will  may  guide.  He  is  a 
leader  too.  His  battles  were  well  fought ;  and  if  he 
strikes  for  us,  as  once  before  he  struck  against  my 
father  at  Alpuxarra,  I  shall  approve  him,  Hebrew  though 
he  be.  These  are  my  arguments,  and  strong  enough  to 
me,  though  my  uncle's  conscience  receive  them  not." 

"  I  wash  my  hands  of  it — I'll  none  of  the  Jew,  Pe- 
layo," exclaimed  the  bishop  aloud. 

"  Could  you  but  wash  them  clean,  uncle,  it  were 


PELAYO.  101 

better.  Tut— but  you  lead  not  here  as  'twere  your 
own.  The  cause  is  for  my  brother  and  his  people. 
The  Jew  is  of  his  people ;  and,  I  swear  it,  he  shall  be 
free  to  lift  his  arm  in  this  great  service.  So  take  a 
wiser  thought  to  your  mind,  and  reject  not  the  instru- 
ment Heaven  sends  us  in  our  need." 

"  Could  he  embrace  the  church — put  on  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  as  a  badge  of  honour  and  of  glory  ?  Say, 
Jew,  couldst  thou  do  this  it  were  all  well." 

"  Never !  the  heart  of  the  Jew  clings  more  firmly  to 
the  faith  of  his  fathers  as  thou  seek'st  to  degrade  it. 
Even  chains  and  the  scourge  are  sweet,  when  they  tell 
him  of  the  ancient  altars  of  his  nation  :  the  sacred  ark 
of  the  temple  ;  the  temple  itself,  hallowed  by  a  thousand 
glories- — by  the  awful  front  of  Jehovah,  and  the  song  of 
the  monarch  minstrel.  Shall  I  put  off  the  joys  of  my 
spirit — the  pleasant  thoughts  of  my  boyhood — the  old 
fancies  that  came  with  the  mighty  Jerusalem,  and  of  the 
parent  God  of  the  patriarchs  ?  Thou  know'st  not  the 
Jew  that  asks  it.  Thou  canst  not  feel  his  thought — 
thou  canst  not  grasp  the  glory  in  his  imagining.  It  is 
not  the  spoil  and  the  suffering  of  to-day  that  shall  make 
him  renounce  the  bright  promise  in  the  future  for  his 
nation.  He  knows  that  the  scattered  people  shall  be 
united — that  there  shall  come  one  who  is  to  lead  them, 
so  that  they  meet  again,  the  world's  master,  and  there 
shall  be  no  oppression." 

"  He  is  come  ! — the  prophecy  is  fulfilled !"  cried  the 
archbishop  triumphantly. 

"  So  thou  say'st — so  doubtless  thou  think'st — but,  if 
he  is  come,  the  prophecy  is  still  incomplete.  Where  is 
the  gathering  of  the  nations  shown  ?  where  is  the  secu- 
rity of  the  flock  1  where  is  the  shepherd  that  is  to  pro- 
tect and  give  them  peace  1  Dost  thou  behold  its  image 
in  the  tyranny  which  makes  wretched  this  thy  own  land 
and  people  1  which  denies  all  peace  to  mine,  while  rob- 
bing them  of  their  substance  ?  Is  this  t«hy  fulfilment  of 
the  glorious  prophecy  which  promised  to  man  the  king- 
12 


102  PELAYO. 

dom  full  of  good-will  and  endless  joy,  of  a  time  unbroken 
of  security,  when  the  good  angels,  as  of  old,  may  again 
walk  beside  us  in  the  quiet  valleys,  and  from  the  hill-top 
at  evening  the  fine  sense  may  catch  the  faint  notes  of 
that  spirit-born  minstrelsy  which  trickles  from  the  thou- 
sand-stringed harp  at  the  golden  gate  of  heaven  ?  Has 
thy  Saviour  brought  thee  ail  this  ?  for  such  is  the  blessed 
promise  of  that  sacred  prophecy." 

"  Strike  down  the  impious  wretch ! — he  blasphemes  !" 
was  the  sanguinary  cry  of  the  archbishop,  as  the  warmly 
roused  Melchior,  whose  spirit  was  deeply  impregnated 
with  the  wildest  fancies  of  the  desert,  poured  himself 
forth  in  the  most  fearless  strains  of  enthusiasm.  The 
old  man  stood  firm,  and  his  dark  eye  was  fired  like  that 
of  the  eagle  fresh  descending  from  the  sun.  One  or  two 
of  the  crowd  moved  towards  him  as  if  in  compliance 
with  the  call  of  Oppas,  but  Pelayo  passed  calmly  be- 
tween. 

"  Go  to,  lords,  this  is  my  guest — under  my  protec- 
tion, and,  to  silence  all  further  coil,  one  for  whom  my 
honour  stands  pledged  to  yours.  I  answer  for  his  faith 
to  us — let  the  God  we  all  worship  see  to  his  own  rights. 
He  is  a  better  judge  than  either  you  or  I,  uncle,  and 
quite  as  able  to  avenge  his  wrongs.  Have  done,  and 
now  to  counsel." 


XXII. 

THE  opposition  of  Oppas  and  the  nobles  ceased, 
rather  in  deference  to  the  expressed  will  of  Pelayo  than 
because  of  any  diminution  in  their  minds  of  the  ground 
of  scruple.  Still, cautiously  avoiding  all  show  of  con- 
nection with  Melchior,  they  began  their  deliberations 
freely,  each  suggesting  his  own  view  of  the  course 
which  should  be  taken.  It  happened  here,  as  in  most 
cases  where  the  counsellors  are  numerous,  that  much 
difference  prevailed  among  them.  One  party  was  for 


PELAYO.  103 

secret  corruption,  the  other  proclaimed  its  sentiments 
fearlessly  in  favour  of  an  open  warfare.  The  leader 
of  the  former  was  Oppas — and  this  was  by  fax  the  most 
numerous  body.  Pelayo  counselled  the  other.  Many 
were  the  reasons  given  by  the  archbishop  in  behalf  of 
his  suggestions — reasons  all  highly  politic  had  the  cause 
been  less  just  and  honourable  than  it  was — reasons 
wisely  framed  for  the  rebel,  but  not  so  moving  for  him 
who  claimed  rightfully  his  throne  from  the  hands  of  a 
usurper.  Pelayo  saw  through  the  designs  of  Oppas — 
he  saw  that  the  plan  suggested  by  his  uncle  would  have 
the  effect  of  binding  his  followers  to  the  guidance  of  a 
secret  and  irresponsible  authority,  which,  should  the  fate 
of  Egiza  or  himself  prove  unfortunate,  would  vest  the 
power  in  the  hands  of  one,  not  less  a  usurper  than  was 
he  who  now  swayed  the  empire.  He,  therefore,  reso- 
lutely opposed  it. 

"  My  brother,"  said  he,  "  has  a  right  in  this,  a  sacred 
right,  left  him  by  a  thousand  sires,  each  having  it  the 
same.  'Tis  not  for  him  to  hide  it  in  a  cloak,  but,  with 
good  argument,  he  well  may  lift  his  banner,  and  declare 
his  full  resolve  to  make  it  good  or  perish." 

"  'Tis  not  wise,  my  son — 'twere  better  policy  to  move 
in  quiet.  Let  us  not  offend  the  e^yes  that  watch  us, 
until  we  may  defy  them." 

"  We  may  do  so  now,  my  Lord  Oppas — we  may  do 
so  now.  The  people  chafe  already  under  the  rule  of 
Roderick,  and,  with  their  wonted  impulse,  they  will 
gather  to  the  banner  of  Egiza,  when  once  they  see  it 
waving.  They  love  the  change,  for  they  are  the 
creatures  of  the  common  nature,  and  her  element  is 
change.  Give  them  a  new  cry — *  Egiza,  and  close 
ranks  for  Spain !' — and  they  will  peal  it  from  each 
sierra  under  the  blue  arch  of  heaven." 

"  Such  is  my  thought,"  cried  Count  Eudon.  "  And 
mine,"  "  and  mine,"  cried  others  of  the  more  daring 
and  restless — those  in  particular  who  had  personal 
wrongs  to  avenge  at  the  hands  of  Roderick. 


1 04  PELAYOV 

"  I  thank  you,  friends — I  thank  you.  This  is  good 
service,  true.  I  love  not  this  same  cunning — this  con- 
cealment. Truth  needs  no  bush  for  cover,  and  the  good 
cause  has  in  itself  a  strength  which  virtue  gives,  shall 
always  make  it  mightiest  in  the  end.  What  is  your 
force,  Lord  Ay  lor  V 

"  Twice  two  hundred — men  good  at  spear  and  axe." 

"  Bowmen,  too  ?' 

"  But  few — too  few  for  note." 

"And  you,  Count  Eudon?" 

"  As  many  more — some  thirty  bowmen — good  at 
close  strife  too.  Stout,  ready,  daring." 

"Wherefore  this,  Pelayol"  cried  the  bishop,  now 
approaching.  "  Sure  you  press  not  the  strife  until  your 
brother  speaks  ?" 

"  I  speak  for  him,  my  Lord  Oppas,  even  as  I  speak 
for  Spain  and  these  assembled  nobles.  It  is  not  more 
the  cause  of  Egiza  than  yours,  and  yours,  and  mine. 
He  but  imbodies,in  the  name  he  bears,  the  rights  of 
those  who  make  him.  He  is  their  king,  'tis  true — king 
for  their  good — no  king  for  them,  if  not." 

"  True — true  !  Our  king,  and  not  his  own,"  was  the 
ready  cry,  in  response,  of  the  nobles  generally.  Such 
an  expression  had  the  effect  of  silencing  Oppas  for  the 
present,  and  the  council  then  proceeded  to  deliberate 
upon  the  farther  action  of  the  conspiracy.  By  careful 
computation  it  was  found  that  a  force  of  six  thousand 
men  or  more,  not  including  the  three  thousand  promised 
by  Melchior,  was  at  command — scattered,  however,  at 
various  and  remote  points,  and  requiring  some  time  for 
assembling.  In  addition  to  this  difficulty,  the  present 
want  of  money  was  suggested  ;  and  it  was  then  that 
Melchior  again  spoke,  pledging  the  necessary  sum. 
This  was  one  of  the  greatest  obstacles  to  the  enterprise, 
for  the  nobles  thus  gathered  were  many  of  them  desti- 
tute, and  hence  much  of  their  discontent.  A  small 
party  was  designated  for  the  purpose  of  procuring  the 
amount  needed,  by  attending  Melchior  to  his  abode ; 


PELAYO.  1 05 

and  the  Hebrew,  with  a  smiling  scorn,  which  he  did  not 
seek  to  hide,  beheld  the  ready  spirit  with  which  they 
now  consented,  having  such  an  object,  to  seek  the  habi- 
tation of  one  whose  very  contact,  but  a  little  before,  they 
had  been  so  shocked  to  think  upon.  Having  arranged 
their  next  meeting,  as  a  national  council,  to  take  place 
in  the  Cave  of  Wamba — a  huge  cavern  in  one  of  the 
neighbouring  mountains,  where  they  proposed  to  ele- 
vate Egiza  to  the  throne  of  the  Goths — the  assembly  was 
dissolved ;  Pelayo,  with  the  small  body  of  nobles  ap- 
pointed to  go  with  Melchior,  moving  ofi'  with  him  to  his 
secluded  dwelling-place. 


XXIIL 

THEY  reached  it,  after  a  while,  by  the  same  indirect 
route  which  Pelayo  had  pursued, at  first  with  Lamecri, 
and  the  boy  awaited  him  at  the  door  of  an  inner  apart- 
ment. Pelayo  looked  with  surprise  and  some  dissatis- 
faction upon  the  fondness  which  he  showed  his  father 
upon  entering.  He  thought  it  unbecoming  in  one  who, 
however  young,  might  be  required,  before  long,  to  en- 
gage in  strife  and  bloodshed.  But  when  he  saw  the 
eyes  of  the  boy,  the  next  moment,  fixed  upon  himself, 
with  a  gaze,  seemingly,  of  admiring  emulation,  while  a 
fire  of  unusual  expression  rushed  into  and  kindled  them 
up,  he  did  not  doubt  but  that  he  also  possessed  a  fine 
spirit  which  would  sustain  him  nobly  in  every  form  of 
trial. 

Melchior  led  the  way  for  the  nobles  into  a  gorgeously 
decorated  chamber.  They  threw  themselves  upon 
cushions  of  the  richest  covering ;  and  Lamech  soon 
appeared,  as  they  spoke,  with  a  pitcher  of  the  finest 
wine.  When  they  were  well  served  and  refreshed,  the 
Hebrew  brought  forth  his  gold,  in  large  sacks,  and 
such  a  supply  as  more  than  met  the  expectations  of 
the  most  voracious  of  the  discontented  nobles.  Pelayo 


106  PELAYO. 

alone  forbore  providing  himself  with  the  rest,  and  having 
reminded  Melchior  of  the  meeting  at  the  Cave  of  Wamba, 
for  a  future  and  appointed  day,  he  took  his  departure 
with  his  company.  Soon  as  they  had  gone,  and  the 
doors  were  secured,  the  boy  Lamech  went  to  his  cham- 
ber, and  after  a  brief  space  returned — a  boy  no  longer 
—but  a  woman — a  tall,  beautiful,  dark-eyed  Arabian 
maiden — the  daughter,  and  not  the  son,  of  the  venerable 
Hebrew. l 

"  Oh,  my  father,  how  I  love  to  return,  though  but 
once  in  the  long  day,  to  the  garb  of  my  mother.  I  feel 
so  unhappy — so  awkward  in  that  foreign  dress — when 
shall  I  be  released  from  the  task  of  wearing  it?" 

"  Ay,  when,  my  Thyrza,  when  ?  The  garment  of  the 
boy  is  now  thy  security  y  and  though  I  love  not  to  see 
thee  in  it,  yet,  as  it  keeps  thee  from  harm,  I  must  even 
love  it  too.  Perhaps,  my  child,  if  the  God  of  our 
fathers  turn  not  again  from  us,  the  time  is  but  short  in 
which  thy  present  servitude,  and  mine,  and  our  people's, 
shall  continue." 

"  Ah !  I  understand  thee,  father.  Thou  art  again 
about  to  lift  the  spear  and  the  sword  ;  and  thine  eyes 
look  forward  to  the  fight  with  an  old  kindling.  Thou 
art  leagued  with  the  princes  of  the  Goth,  who  now  cry 
\var  against  Roderick." 

"  It  is  even  as  thou  say'st  it,  Thyrza.  I  am  sworn 
with  the  battle  of  the  princes,  and,  God  help  me,  I 
shall  strike  fairly  with  them  against  the  bloody  ruler  of 
my  people.  It  cannot  be  that  Jehovah  will  always  look 
dark  on  Israel — it  cannot  be  that  Judah  will  always 
be  a  dweller  in  the  tents  of  the  stranger,  beaten  with 
stripes,  and  born  to  do  his  bidding.  So  long  as  this 
bondage  is  his,  so  long  must  Melehior  battle  for  himy 
and  against  his  oppressor." 

"  And  yet,  my  father,  what  hope  is  for  the  Hebrew  ? 
—the  despised,  the  persecuted  Hebrew  ?  How  wilt  thou 
confide  in  him  whose  pleasure  and  whose  pride  it  is  to 
scorn  and  to  abuse  thy  people  ?  Thou  didst  league, 


PELAYO.  107 

having  this  hope,  with  the  savage  Count  Generic,  and 
with  Witebrode,  yet  what  was  thy  fortune?  When 
came  the  peril,  they  shrunk  from  thee — when  came  the 
triumph,  they  trampled  upon  thee,  needing  thy  service 
no  longer.  Ah  me,  my  father,  wherefore  shouldst  thou 
strive,  when  Israel  himself  lies  down  like  a  beaten  dog, 
and  howls  only  when  he  should  hurt — when  the  lion  of 
Judah  sleeps  under  the  foot,  even  as  the  imaged  stone, 
at  the  doorway  of  his  oppressors.  Why  shouldst  thou 
toil  in  battle  for  such  as  these?  why  pray  to  them, 
when  they  hear  thee  with  but  half  an  ear,  and  turn  to 
thee  with  an  unwilling  spirit  ?" 

*4  Thyrza,  my  child,  thou  speakest  melancholy  things 
— most  sad,  as  they  are  most  true.  But  the  spirit 
which  labours  for  man  is  a  spirit  from  heaven,  and  the 
sacrifice  is  not  idle,  though  the  victim  appears  to  bleed 
in  vain.  It  must  be  that  the  prophet  shall  speak  to  un- 
heeding ears — it  must  be  that  the  patriot  will  strike  for 
hearts  that  merit  not  freedom.  Yet  must  the  prophet 
speak  on,  and  the  patriot  strike.  They  do  not  this  for 
a  race,  nor  for  a  generation — they  do  it  for  God  and  for 
man ;  and  the  glorious  principle  which  men  flout  and 
deride  to-day,  shall,  to-morrow,  when  the  blood  of  the 
good  hath  been  poured  forth  in  attestation  of  its  truth, 
become  a  sacred  thing  which  all  the  world  shall  delight 
to  behold  and  worship.  Think,  ny  child,  if  Melchior, 
the  wanderer  with  the  Saracen,  the  beaten  slave  of  the 
Roman,  the  persecuted  and  hunted  outlaw  among  the 
Goths — think  what  would  have  been  the  blessing  of  life 
to  him  had  his  spirit  lived  only  for  the  day  of  its  exer- 
cise. Thou  knowest  not  how  high,  how  stretching  were 
his  thoughts,  when  his  eye  counted  the  blessed  stars  of 
heaven,  from  the  wide  and  cheerless  bosom  of  the 
desert.  They  taught  him  that  so  numerous  and  so 
scattered  were  the  myriad  families  of  man ;  and  even 
as  he  borrowed  light  from  glories  so  remote  as  theirs, 
so  to  the  immeasurable  worlds  of  man  should  be  his 
various  thoughts,  all  coming  from  the  great  Jehovah, 


10&  PELAYO. 

and  all  going  forth  to  bless  and  illumine  his  divided 
people.  Melchior,  my  child,  has  had  but  one  selfish 
thought  since  the  departure  of  thy  blessed  mother,  and 
that  thought  has  been  of  thee." 

"  My  father !"  and  as  she  spoke  she  threw  her  white 
arm  around  his  neck,  while  her  head  rested  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"Thou  wert  that  thought — and  sometimes  it  has 
prompted,  even  as  thou  hast  counselled ;  and  I  would 
have  given  up  this  struggle  for  the  Hebrew,  leaving  him 
the  trampled  and  beaten  dog  that  I  have  found  him,  but 
that  a  spirit,  like  that  which  came  to  Job  at  midnight, 
has  filled  me  with  a  chill  and  a  trembling,  that  seemed 
a  punishment  for  mine  error.  I  must  labour  for  my 
people,  let  me  love  them  as  I  may — ay,  my  child,  even 
though  thou  art  the  sacrifice.  I  have  leagued  with  the 
sons  of  my  enemy  Witiza,  in  a  cause  full  of  hope  for 
the  Hebrew." 

"  And  yet,  my  father,  in  what  can  be  thy  trust — thou 
so  much  wronged,  and  so  much  misguided  as  thou  hast 
been  before  V9 

*'  My  trust  is  in  God — he  who  gave  the  lion-spirit  to 
Judah,  and  whose  promise  yet  stands  for  my  people,  in 
the  thousand  prophecies  of  our  fathers.  Yet  not  alto- 
gether do  I  withhold  my  confidence  from  man.  I  hold 
much  to  the  faith  in  this  noble  youth,  the  Prince  Pelayo. 
Did  not  my  eyes,  even  when  I  lay  half  stunned  and  in- 
sensible upon  the  rocks,  open  into  consciousness  as  he 
came  ?  did  they  not  behold,  above  his  head,  the  thrice 
circling  wing  of  the  sacred  bird  the  Arabian  worships, 
with  its  green  glory,  promising  him  a  crown  ?  And  then, 
his  speech  is  noble — his  thought  is  wise,  far  beyond  his 
years  and  people  ;  and  he  loves  truth  as  a  thing  for  high 
spirits,  and  the  becoming  language  of  a  God.  I  be- 
lieved him  when  I  saw  him  first — I  believed  him  when 
he  spoke — I  cannot  but  believe  him." 

"  And  I  believe  him  too,  my  father — I  do — "  and, 
with  a  strange  emotion,  the  cheeks  of  the  Hebrew 


PELAYO.  109 

maiden  glowed  like  fire,  and  she  buried  her  face  upon 
the  bosom  of  her  father,  while  her  young  heart  beat 
audibly. 

"  And  now,  Thyrza,  thy  harp,  my  child.  Tell  me 
of  that  solemn  march  of  our  people  from  the  bondage 
of  the  Egyptian,  when  the  prophet  of  God  led  them 
through  the  waters,  and  the  hosts  of  Pharaoh  were  buried 
in  their  depths."  And  with  a  slow,  sweet  accent,  the 
maiden  sang  to  her  harp  the  story  he  required. 


XXIV. 


THE    PASSAGE    OF    THE    RED    SEA. 

Then  Thyrza  took  the  harp, 

And,  with  a  strange  sweet  sorrow  in  her  voice, 

That  won  the  tear  to  come, 

She  straight  began  the  strain  that  Miriam  sang — 

Miriam  the  Prophetess,  old  Aaron's  sister — 

As,  when,  the  Red  Sea  passed, 

She,  with  the  maidens  pleasantly  about  her, 

Sat  by  the  bitter  waters  of  Marah, 

And  sweetly  struck  the  timbrel  while  she  told 

Of  Israel's  triumph — of  the  sea  o'erpassed 

In  safety  by  the  Hebrew,  while  its  waves 

Went  o'er  the  Egyptian  host — chariot  and  horse — 

Monarch  and  subject — banner  and  array. 

CHORUS  OF  ISRAELITES. 

Oh,  wherefore  hast  thou  led  us  forth  to  die 
Amid  the  desert,  with  a  cruel  death  ? 
Were  there  no  graves  in  Egypt  1 

MOSES. 

Lift  your  eye, 

Nor  murmur,  for  the  Lord,  with  sacred  breath, 
Hath  spoken — and  this  day,  that  ye  deplore, 
VOL.  I.— K 


110  PELAYO. 

For  that  the  Egyptian  warriors  pursue, 

Your  eye  that  sees  them  now,  shall  see  no  more : 

They  snail  all  perish. 

CHORUS  OF  ISRAELITES. 

Be  your  promise  true, 
Then  shall  we  still  the  blessed  Lord  adore. 

MOSES. 

Adore,  adore — the  blessed  Lord  adore — 
For  look,  where  now  behind  us,  like  a  shroud, 
Solemn  and  vast,  has  gone  that  mighty  cloud, 
With  face  of  fire  to  us,  that  guides  our  way, 
And,  though  the  night  hours  come,  still  yields  us  day ; 
While  black,  upon  the  host  of  Pharaoh  glooming, 
It  speaks  for  God — those  cruel  warriors  dooming 
Who  shall  all  perish.    . 

CHORUS  OF  ISRAELITES. 

With  a  mighty  voice, 

In  thy  great  honour,  Lord,  we  now  rejoice — 
Thou  art  the  God  of  Israel,  and  hast  kept 
Thy  holy  watch  above  him  when  he  slept. 

MOSES. 

Yea,  borne  him  out  of  bondage,  made  him  strong, 
And  taught  his  lips  a  triumph  and  a  song  ; 
And  now,  ev'n  now,  when  murm'ring,  ye  repine. 
Because  he  left  ye  not  as  dogs  and  swine, 
To  your  Egyptian  lords,  hath  led  ye  forth 
To  be  a  mighty  people  of  the  earth — 
He  builds  ye  up  a  holy  habitation* 

CHORUS  OF  ISRAELITES. 

Great  is  the  Lord — the  Lord  is  great — he  builds^ 
He  builds  us  up  a  holy  habitation — 
So  ran  the  prophecy  when  Abraham's  fields 
Had  but  a  hundred  shepherds  with  their  flocks, 


PELAYO.  HI 

Scattered  and  lonely,  on  the  inclining  rocks — 
And  Israel  shall  become  a  mighty  nation. 

MOSES. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord !  Oh,  praise — 'tis  now  the  hour, 

When  the  Egyptian  comes  in  all  his  pow'r — 

Ye  hear  his  rolling  chariots,  and  the  tramp 

Of  his  fierce  horsemen  crowding  on  our  camp — 

He  comes  with  an  exulting  thought  to  slay, 

And  bear  us  in  captivity  away  ; 

But  God  is  with  his  people,  and  this  day, 

Shall  honour  win  from  Pharaoh  by  his  deed. 

Follow  ye  to  the  waters  when  I  lead, 

And  fear  not,  though  I  leave  ye  now  to  pray. 

CHORUS  or  ISRAELITES. 

They  come,  they  come — oh,  whither  shall  we  flee ! 
MOSES  (apart) 

To  thee,  to  thee,  O  Lord  of  Hosts,  to  thee, 

This  day  be  all  the  glory.     Leave  us  not, 

But  keep  thy  people  from  the  evil  lot 

Of  blows  and  bondage.     Let  them  not  prevail, 

Thy  foes  and  Israel's,  who,  with  rude  assail, 

And  a  fierce  cry  that  mocks  our  heart's  distress, 

Press  on  us  in  our  infant  feebleness. 

And  now  they  come — be  with  us — lift  thine  arm, 

Strike  down  the  foe,  thy  children  keep  from  harm, 

And  turn  aside  this  peril. 

THE  VOICE. 

Wherefore  cry 

In  anguish   to   me  1     I  am  ever  nigh 
To  thee  and  Israel.     To  thy  people  speak  ; 
Bid  them  go  forward.     Let  them  not  grow  weak, 
But  teach  them  what  thou  know'st     Then  lift  thy  rod 
Above  the  waters. 


112  PELAYO. 


MOSES. 

Lord,  I  adore  and  tremble.     Mighty  God ! 
'Tis  done  as  thou  hast  said. 

THE  VOICE. 

Look  and  see, 

The  waters  are  divided.     Thou  art  free 
To  lead  thy  people  over  the  dry  land. 

MOSES. 

Oh,  great  and  wonderful.     On  either  hand 
The  heaping  seas  are  broken — a  high  wall 
Towers  around  us.     Praise  ye,  Israel,  all, 
Advance,  and  praise  the  Lord — a  mighty  song 
Shall  speak  his  mercy  that  endureth  long — 
His  justice  is  for  ever.      Onward  press, 
While  the  high  waters, mute  and  motionless, 
Look  down  upon  us.     Is  the  Lord  not  nigh? 
He  keeps  their  walls  apart,  he  builds  them  high, 
So  that  ye  pass  in  safety.     Praise,  oh,  praise, 
Lift  high  your  hearts,  oh  Israel,  in  his  praise — 
By  his  hand's  strength  the  Lord  hath  brought  ye  forth 
From  bondage — and  shall  make  ye  of  the  earth 
The  greatest,  building  ye  a  habitation 
Holy  and  high. 

CHORUS  OF  ISRAELITES. 

And  raising  Israel  to  a  mighty  nation, 

As  promised  unto  Abraham,  when  the  Lord, 

While  he  lay  sleeping  in  his  Chaldee  tent, 

Said  to  him  in  sweet  vision,  angel-sent, 

"  I  am  thy  shield — I  am  thy  great  reward," 

And  bade  him  count  the  thick'ning  stars  and  see, 

Many,  like  them,  should  his  own  people  be. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord — oh,  praise  ! 


PELAYO.  113 

MOSES. 

Now  Pharaoh's  host 
Advances  on  us,  with  a  cruel  boast, 
And  a  fierce  cry ;  but  fear  ye  not  his  pow'r, 
For  God  is  with  us  in  the  darkest  hour, 
And  ye  shall  see  this  day  his  triumph  vast 
Over  our  foe.     Rejoice,  the  sea  is  passed, 
Lift  ye  your  hearts  in  song !     I  speak  to  God, 
While  ye  do  praise  him. 

THE  VOICE. 

Moses,  lift  thy  rod 
Once  more  above  the  waters. 

MOSES. 

It  is  done ! 

O,  thou  eternal  and  all-powerful  One ! 
The  waters  roll  above  them.     Israel,  see, 
And  sing,  the  Lord  hath  triumphed  gloriously. 
The  rider  and  his  horse  are  overthrown, 
And  Pharaoh's  chariots  and  himself  are  down — 
All  crushed  and  buried  in  the  gathering  sea. 
His  mighty  captains — what  are  they  to  thee, 
O  mightiest  Captain  !     Thou'rt  the  man  of  war, 
And  all  the  valiant  else  but  children  are ! 
Lord  is  thy  name,  and,  glorious  in  its  pow'r, 
Thy  right  hand  dashest  into  naught  thy  foe ! 
Thou  speakeet,  and  the  winds  begin  to  blow, 
The  floods  stand  upright,  till  thou  bidst  them  go, 
And  then  they  rush  in  overwhelming  show'r, 
Swallowing  their  thousands.     Mighty  art  thou,  Lord, 
3\    st  mighty !     Be  thy  name  for  aye  adored, 
In  Israel,  by  thy  people.     Lo !  they  stand 
Trembling,  to  see  the  wonders  of  thy  hand. 
Rejoice,  rejoice,  oh  Israel !     For  He  brings 
His  children  out  from  bondage.     With  His  arm, 
Above  their  enemies,  the  sea  He  flings, 
K2 


114  PELAYO. 

And  keeps  His  chosen  people  from  all  harm ! 
He  doth  set  free  the  captive,  and  He  builds 
For  Israel  now  a  holy  habitation. 
Sorrow  shall  fill  the  Palestinian  fields, 
He  gives  them  up  a  spoil  unto  our  nation. 
Edom  shall  be  amazed — the  mighty  men 
That  dwell  in  Moab  shall  all  tremble,  when 
Our  march  is  on  them ;  and  beneath  our  sway 
Canaan's  people  shall  all  melt  away. 
Thine  is  their  land,  and  thither  we  advance, 
Now,  Israel,  to  thy  great  inheritance ! 


XXV. 

THE  solemn  strain  was  finished,  and  in  a  style  of 
beauty  not  more  remarkable  for  its  exquisite  simplicity 
than  for  its  exquisite  harmony.  Thyrza  had  been  edu- 
cated chiefly  by  her  father,  and  had  acquired,  as  much 
from  his  as  from  her  own  spirit,  no  small  portion  of  that 
lofty  and  high-souled  enthusiasm  which  made  up  so  much 
of  his  character.  Glowing  with  the  rich  exuberance  of 
excited  religious  feeling,  when  the  performer  turned 
from  her  seat  to  look  upon  the  old  man,  she  beheld  him 
upon  his  knees — his  eyes  lifted  to  heaven,  and  the  sen- 
timent of  prayer  deeply  written  upon  every  feature  of  his 
face.  She  glided  to  him  softly,  and  knelt  down  quietly, 
without  a  word,  beside  him.  He  acknowledged  her 
presence  with  a  start,  then  clasping  her  to  his  arms, 
thanked  her  for  her  performance,  and  gave  her  his  part- 
ing blessing  for  the  night. 

"  Now  go  to  thy  chamber,  my  child— take  thy  sleep, 
and  may  the  God  of  Abraham  watch  over  and  keep  thee 
from  harm.  Good-night !" 

She  murmured  a  similar  aspiration,  and  left  him. 
The  old  man  again  sank  back  into  prayerful  musing, 
for  his  mood  was  eminently  devotional,  though  his  pur- 


PELAYO.  115 

suits  all  his  life  had  been  wild,  and  many  of  his  more 
vigorous  years  had  been  spent  in  unprofitable  strife. 

"  When,  oh,  when  shall  Thy  people  now  pass  out  from 
their  bondage  1  When  wilt  Thou  come  to  their  aid,  O 
Thou,  whose  arm  shook  the  waters  over  Pharaoh,  and 
humbled  the  hosts  of  the  Philistines !  Oh,  wouldst 
thou  endow  me,  for  their  good,  in  this  great  service — 
wouldst  thou  smile  upon  my  hope — wouldst  thou  give 
strength  to  our  warriors,  and  fortune  to  this  our  enter- 
prise, then  would  thy  servant  gladly  lay  down  his  own 
life,  happy  in  the  sacrifice  that  brought  with  it  so  great 
a  profit." 

He  arose  at  length  from  his  knees,  placed  a  keen 
dagger  in  his  girdle,  and  wrapping  himself  closely  in 
his  mantle,  went  forth  into  the  city. 


END    OF    BOOK    THE    FIRST. 


: 


( 


- 
.. 


o 
>>v. 


BOOK   II. 


AGE  had  not  diminished,  nor  could  defeat  and  disap- 
pointment discourage,  the  energies  of  Melchior.  Desert- 
born,  he  had  been  taught  to  endure  trial  and  to  love 
adventure.  Enthusiastic  and  resolute  by  nature,  the 
life  which  he  had  led  had  early  tutored  him  in  a  habit 
of  mental  concentration,  which  made  him  equally  tena- 
cious and  fearless  in  the  pursuit  of  his  object.  Vicissi- 
tudes had  taught  him  religion,  and  its  ennobling  senti- 
ments, linked  with  his  natural  enthusiasm  of  character, 
had  made  him  zealous  in  the  prosecution  of  what  he 
deemed  his  duties.  The  dangers  which  surrounded  him 
in  that  strange  city,  full  of  his  enemies, — the  darkness 
of  the  night, — his  own  fatigues  of  frame  in  the  long 
travel  of  the  day,  and  the  excitements  through  which  he 
had  gone, — were  all  as  nothing  to  the  aged  man.  Filled 
with  the  cheering  hope  which  the  conversation  with  Pe- 
layo  had  imparted,  of  improving  the  condition  of  his 
people,  he  thought  neither  of  danger  nor  fatigue.  His 
spirit  was  aroused,  and  he  suffered  no  sleep  to  visit  his 
eyelids  until  he  had  .done  something  towards  the  great 
object  with  which  his  bosom  laboured.  His  purpose 
now  was  an  immediate  conference  with  such  of  his 
people  as  had  power  over  the  rest,  and  could  be  relied 
upon  in  a  scheme  so  perilous  as  that  in  view.  This 
was  a  work  of  caution,  and  well  did  Melchior  know  that 
there  were  few,  even  among  his  own  tribe,  who  could 


118  PELAYO. 

well  be  trusted.  There  were  but  few,  indeed,  to  whom 
he  could  dare  confide  the  secret  of  his  own  presence  in 
that  city  of  his  foe ;  and  this  was  one  of  the  reasons 
which  prompted  him  to  go  forth,  at  that  late  hour,  under 
the  shelter  of  the  night.  Moving  through  the  gloomy 
city  like  one  long  familiar  with  all  its  haunts,  he  made 
his  way  to  a  yet  more  secluded  portion  of  the  Hebrew 
suburb  than  that  which  he  had  left.  At  length  he 
reached  a  dwelling  that  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  all 
other  buildings.  It  was  a  poor  and  mean-looking  fab- 
ric, and  nothing  in  its  external  appearance  could  possi- 
bly have  spoken  for  wealth  or  affluence  within.  Mel- 
chior  tapped  lightly  at  a  little  low,  arched  entrance, 
and  was  instantly  admitted.  A  few  words,  uttered  in  a 
strange  language  to  him  who  waited,  were  soon  under- 
stood, and  the  visiter  at  once  followed  the  porter  into 
the  body  of  the  dwelling. 

If  the  outward  aspect  of  this  fabric  was  base  and  un- 
assuming, such  certainly  was  not  the  character  of  the 
interior.  The  apartment  into  which  Melchior  was  con- 
ducted amply  compensated,  by  its  exquisite  beauty  and 
richness  of  ornament,  for  the  humility  of  its  outward 
show.  It  was  a  chamber  of  surpassing  grandeur  of 
decoration  and  arrangement.  All  things  familiar  to  the 
luxurious  tastes  of  that  period  and  couatry,  for  the  grati- 
fication of  the  eye  and  the  pleasure  of  the  senses, 
seemed  here  to  have  been  studiously  and  profusely 
drawn  together.  Roman  luxury  and  Saracen  volup- 
tuousness were  made  to  vie  in  the  wealth  and  multi- 
plicity of  their  productions.  The  oriental  storehouse 
had  been  ransacked,  and  a  foretaste  of  the  future  glories 
of  the  "  Alhambra"  might  have  been  found,  like  so  much 
hidden  treasure,  awaiting  the  hour  of  its  delivery  from 
the  mine,  in  the  humble  home  of  a  trembling  father  to  a 
degraded  and  derided  people. 


PELAYO.  119 


II. 

BUT  the  eye  of  Melchior  rested  not  upon  the  wealth 
and  splendour  which  were  clustered  around  him.  The 
glitter  of  the  mine,  the  glow  of  the  palace,  the  pomp  of 
aught  save  Heaven,  were  as  nothing  in  his  contempla- 
tion. He  turned  away  from  the  glare  and  the  tinsel  in 
his  glance,  and  his  eyes  rested  thoughtfully  upon  a  couch 
disposed  after  the  fashion  of  the  Moor,  and  richly  habit- 
ed with  a  profuse  drapery  of  fine  silks,  fretted  and  in- 
wrought with-  gold.  On  this  couch  a  youth  lay  fast 
sleeping.  His  dark  skin,  his  thick,  black,  glossy  hair,  the 
lightness  and  symmetry  of  his  limbs, — all  told  of  his 
oriental  origin ;  while  the  narrow  face,  the  finely  oval 
cheek,  impaired,  however,  by  the  sudden  and  enfeebling 
sharpness  of  his  chin,  as  certainly  determined  him  to  be 
of  Hebrew  parentage.  He  was  richly  habited,  and  not 
seemingly  for  slumber.  He  appeared  rather  to  have 
thrown  himself  casually  upon  the  couch,  and  to  have 
fallen  unconsciously  into  that  luxurious  repose  which,  in 
the  summer,  steals  so  insidiously  and  with  such  lulling 
sweetness  upon  the  unwary  or  exhausted  senses.  His 
tunic  was  of  a  tfcick  purple  silk,  and  a  long  sash  en- 
circled his  waist.  Gems  of  value  glittered  upon  his 
fingers,  and  a  heavy  chain  of  Moorish  workmanship, 
even  more  valuable  for  the  exquisite  taste  and  delicacy 
of  its  construction  than  for  the  intrinsic  weight  of  the 
metal,  hung  loosely  around  his  neck. 

Melchior,  while  his  guide  departed  as  if  in  quest  of 
another,  drew  nigh  and  seated  himself  upon  the  couch 
at  the  foot  of  the  sleeper.  The  slumbers  of  the  youth 
were  uneven  and  disturbed,  though  his  sleep  was  un- 
broken. His  limbs  were  tossed  about  at  moments, 
from  side  to  side,  as  if  his  blood  was  in  fever ;  and 
Melchior  pressed  the  pulse  of  his  extended  arm  with  his 


120  PELAYO. 

finger,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  such  was  not  the  case. 
Long  and  earnestly  did  the  aged  man  contemplate  the 
person  of  the  youth  before  him  with  a  look  full  of  mel- 
ancholy dissatisfaction.  While  he  gazed,  muttered  words 
broke  forth  from  the  lips  of  the  sleeper, — words  of  anger 
and  defiance ;  and  now  an  oath,  a  bitter,  blasphemous 
oath,  startled  the  venerable  man  with  the  atrocious  im- 
piety that  seemed  to  be  dwelling,  as  if  at  home,  in  a 
bosom  so  very  young — in  a  form,  to  the  eye,  so  promis- 
ing. He  turned  away  as  if  sickening  at  the  survey,  and 
the  painful  thoughts  which  it  had  forced  upon  him. 


III. 

IN  a  few  moments,  and  a  door  curiously  wrought  in 
the  tapestry  of  the  chamber,  for  the  purposes  of  flight 
and  concealment,  was  silently  thrown  open ;  and  a  ven- 
erable man,  not  less  aged  than  Melchior,  though  with- 
out any  appearance  of  his  elasticity  and  strength,  now 
entered  the  apartment.  He  came  forward  with  a  slow 
and  stealthy  movement,  as  if  fearing  to  break  the  slum- 
bers of  the  sleeping  youth.  In  silence  he  approached 
his  guest,  and  the  two,  as  if  long  and  dearly  known, 
embraced  each  other  without  uttering  a  word.  In  a 
whisper,  the  new-comer  instructed  Melchior  to  resume 
his  seat  upon  the  edge  of  the  couch  from  which  he  had 
arisen.  The  other  occupied  a  place  beside  him,  giving, 
as  he  did  so,  a  glance  to  the  sleeping  youth,  which,  to 
the  eye  of  Melchior,  was  full  of  an  unadvised  and  mis- 
taken fondness.  The  thought  of  his  mind  at  that  mo- 
ment gave  to  the  venerable  man  occasion  for  a  remark, 
which,  though  strong,  and  delivered  with  emphasis,  was 
yet  uttered  in  a  whisper. 

"  The  boy  is  a  boy  no  longer,  Adoniakim :  he  has 
advanced  in  growth  and  strength,  and  is  a  goodly  youth 
to  look  upon." 


PELAYO.  121 

«  Very — Very  goodly,  indeed,  to  look  upon,"  said  the 
other,  with  a  sigh,  at  the  same  time  that  his  eye  dwelt 
with  fondness  upon  the  features  of  the  youth.  Melchior 
proceeded : 

"  Goodly  to  the  sight  is  he,  but  I  fear  me,  Adonia- 
kim,  that  the  evil  spirit  of  self  is  still  the  master  within 
him.  He  heeds  thee  not,  Adoniakim,  as  a  child  should 
heed  his  father.  The  stubbornness  of  boyhood,  of  which 
I  warned  thee,  has  grown  stronger  in  his  years,  and, 
with  his  growth,  has  become  too  vigorous  for  thee  now 
to  restrain.  Alas !  brother,  thou  hast  been  erringly  and 
sadly  fond  of  thy  firstborn." 

"  My  only  one,  Melchior.  True, — thou  hast  said 
but  truly.  I  have  greatly  erred  in  my  teaching.  The 
boy  is  wilful,  and  heeds  not  much  the  commands  of  his 
father  or  the  counsels  of  his  friends  :  he  inclines  but  too 
much  to  serve  the  devices  and  desires  of  his  own  heart." 

"  I  knew  it,  Adoniakim.  I  knew  that  the  nature 
within  him  was  wayward  and  wilful  from  the  first,  and 
greatly  did  I  fear  that  thine  was  not  the  spirit  to  subdue  the 
evil  temper.  Thou  hast  smiled  when  thou  shouldst  have 
looked  sadly,  and  been  but  sad  when  thou  shouldst  have 
been  stern.  He  has  been  too  dear  to  thee  in  thy  lone- 
liness, and  thpu  hast  been  too  much  a  dependant  upon 
him  to  do  him  and  thyself  that  justice  which  would  have 
reproved  his  error  and  punished  his  disobedience.  I 
fear  me  thou  wilt  have  much  sorrow  yet  from  his  wild 
nature  and  vicious  mood." 

"  And  yet,  Melchior,  I  have  not  forborne  to  punish 
and  restrain.  Many  stripes  have  I  given  him  while,  he 
was  yet  a  'boy ;  and,  since  he  has  grown  up,  as  thou 
seest,  into  a  youth  seemly  to  look  upon,  much  sage  and 
solemn  counsel  have  I  bestowed  upon  him." 

"  Alas,  Adoniakim,  I  fear  me  thou  hast  not  punished 

wisely  nor  counselled  prudently.     The  guidance  must 

be   habitual,   and   the   punishment  in  season,   or  they 

are   equally  bestowed  in  vain.      Thou  hast  punished 

VOL.  I.— L 


122  PELAYO. 

when  too  much  provocation  has  chafed  thy  heart,  and 
not  because  thou  wouldst  chasten  to  improve.  Thy 
stripes  have  been  given  in  thy  anger,  and  not  for  his 
good ;  it  was  thy  passion,  and  not  his  deserts,  that 
prompted  thee  to  punish ;  and  we  may  not  wonder  that 
thou  hast  pacified  thyself  without  improving  him.  It  is 
a  sad  thing  for  the  young  and  erring  spirit  when  the 
father  loves  unwisely,  for  then  the  strong  feelings  of  the 
heart  rise  up  against  the  sober  thoughts  of  the  head,  and 
the  eyes  of  a  calm  reflection  are  blinded  by  the  rushing 
impulses  from  within.  I  warned* thee  of  this  danger, 
Adoniakim,  when  last  we  took  counsel  of  the  youth.  He 
is  soon  to  be  a  man, — goodly  to  the  sight,  my  brother, 
but  greatly  I  fear  me,  Adoniakim,  not  goodly  to  the 
thought.  He  will  vex  thy  old  heart  sadly  ere  thou  goest 
down  to  the  tomb  of  thy  fathers." 

"Alas,  Melchior,  I  tremble  at  what  thou  sayest. 
Tell  me,  whence  come  these  apprehensions  ? — what  hast 
thou  heard? — what  hast  thou  seen?  Thou  hast  not 
spoken  with  the  boy, — thou  hast  only  beheld  him  as  he 
slept.  Thou  hast  had  no  word  with  him  or  with  me 
that  could  teach  thee  of  his  erring.  What,  then,  is  the 
art  that  so  informs  thee  ?  How  is  it  that  thou  so  quick- 
ly dost  dive  into  the  deep  soul  for  its  secrets  ?" 

And,  as  he  spoke,  the  aged  parent  turned  fondly  and 
gazed  upon  the  sleeping  subject  of  their  deliberations. 

"  Even  while  he  slept  I  judged  him,"  said  Melchior, 
solemnly.  "Even  while  he  slept,  my  brother,  evil 
thoughts  were  busy  in  his  mind,  and  a  foul  oath  and 
many  dark  threats  gathered  upon  his  lips.  Behold, 
even  now,  the  big,  swollen  vein  upon  the  ruffled  brow ! 
— see  to  the  lips  which  are  now  compressed  as  if  in 
strife,  only  to  part  in  bitterness !" 

"  Stay — he  wakes !"  said  the  other,  and  his  hand 
rested  upon  that  of  Melchior  while  he  spoke,  and  they 
both  paused  from  speech,  as  a  repeated  movement  of 
the  youth's  person  led  them  to  apprehend  his  awakening. 


PELAtO.  123 

But  the  limbs  were  once  more  composed,  as  if  in 
slumber,  and  the  youth  lay  again  in  silence  as  before. 

"  Thou  misjudgest  him,  Melchior,"  said  the  father, 
deprecatingly  :  "  the  boy  is  rash  and  wilful,  but  thou 
errest  when  thou  thinkest  him  vicious.  The  spirit  is 
wild,  but,  I  trust,  not  evil.  There  is,  indeed,  much 
truth  in  what  thou  sayest,  but  it  is  not  all  truth, — not  all 
•—not  all :  it  would-  be  a  dreadful  sorrow,  Melchior, 
could  I  think  it  so." 

"  Is  it  not  now  thy  sorrow,  Adoniakim  ?"  demanded 
Melchior.  "  Dost  thou  not  even  now  mourn  ever  with 
fears  of  thy  son's  wilfulness, — fears  that  come  to  thee 
unbidden?  Deceive  not. thyself,  my  brother.  This  is 
always  the  error  of  the  father.  Declare  to  thyself — to 
me — what  is  thy  thought,  and  thou  wilt  say  that  what  I 
have  said  to  thee  of  the  boy  has  been  long  thy  sorrow — 
thy  deep  sorrow-  -Hast  thou  any  care  on  thy  heart  but 
this,  unless  it  be  for  thy  trodden  and  thy  trampled  peo- 
ple ?  Does  not  the  boy  afflict  thee  by  his  profligacy 
and  his  profusion — by  his  wilfulness  and  scorn  of  all  the 
checks  thou  wouldst  put  upon  him?  Is  he  not  licen- 
tious and  wanton  ?  Does  he  not  debauch  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Gothic  nobles,  and  ape  their  miserable 
vices,  not  'having  even  their  freedom  ?  I  have  heard  no 
one  speak  of  this — I  have  seen  none  of  it  myself ;  and 
yet,  Adoniakim,  from  thy  heart  unfold  to  me,  speak  I 
not  the  truth  ?" 

"  No  more,  Melchior,  I  pray  thee.  Spare  me  :  thou 
hast  said  enough.  Let  us  now  speak  of  our  people,  for, 
if  I  err  not,  this  is  the  concern  upon  which  thou  comest. 
Thou  hast  been  waited  for.  Tell  me  of  thy  hope — of 
thy  success  among  the  tribes." 

"  Not  here,  Adoniakim — the  youth  sleeps  not  sound- 
ly." 

"  But  fear  not  for  him, — is  he  not  a  Hebrew  like 
ourselves  ?" 

"  No !"  exclaimed  the  other,  sternly.    "  He  feels  not 


124  PELAYO. 

with  us.  He  is  not  prepared  to  deny  himself  for  the 
goodly  cause  of  his  people,  and  only  such  are  with  us. 
Leave  the  boy, — better  that  he  should  sleep  on.  He 
would  but  take  thy  thought  from  my  tidings,  for  thou 
hast  more  pleasure  in  beholding  him  than  in  aught  else." 

And  truly  might  Melchior  say  that  the  aged  Adonia- 
kim  had  more  pleasure  at  such  a  moment,  and  in  the 
survey  of  his  son,  than  in  any  thing  beside.  The  look 
was  long  and  lingering  which  he  cast  behind  him,  as  he 
led  the  way  for  Melchior  from  the  apartment  through  the 
secret  panel  out  of  which  he  came  at  first. 

Scarcely  had  the  door  been  closed  behind  them  when 
the  youth  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  I  thank  thee,  good  Melchior,  for  thy  friendly  thought, 
and  thy  brotherly  labour  to  hurt  me  with  Adoniakim.  I 
will  requite  thee  yet  for  thy  toil,  or  I  deserve  to  sleep. 
Now,  what  does  the  old  goat  seek  with  my  father,  that  I 
must  needs  not  hear?  But  I  will  hear.  I  love  not  to  be 
shut  out  from  the  truth  ;  and,  by  the  beard  of  Samuel !  I 
will  share  in  this  conference,  though  mayhap  I  say  noth- 
ing myself.  I  will  but  give  other  ears  to  the  eloquence 
of  Melchior ;  and  he  who  so  loves  to  hear  his  own  lan- 
guage may  scarce  complain  of  an  addition  to  his  audi- 
ence. So !" 

Thus  did  the  youth  mutter  to  himself,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  aperture  in  the  tapestry  through  which  the 
aged  men  had  gone.  This  he  slightly  unfastened,  and, 
placing  his  ears  upon  the  opening,  the  sounds  of  voices 
from  within  were  borne  distinctly  to  them.  Gradu- 
ally his  knee  sank  to  the  floor ;  and  it  soon  seemed  that 
he  heard  and  understood,  for  his  action  was  quiet  and 
patient,  like  that  of  a  satisfied  listener. 


PELAYO.  125 


IV. 

IN  the  private  apartment  to  which  they  had  retired, 
Melchior  narrated  to  Adoniakim  the  particulars  of  his 
far  travel  and  adventures  during  all  the  long  period  of 
his  absence  from  Cordova.  In  this  narrative  there  was 
much  that  does  not  affect  ours.  When  the  traveller  had 
spoken  generally  of  the  things  which  he  had  seen,  and  of 
his  own  fortunes  in  the  time  mentioned,  he  proceeded  to 
confer  with  his  friend  upon  the  condition  of  their  people, 
to  the  improvement  and  melioration  of  which  both  of 
them  had  long  before  devoted  themselves.  It  was  at  the 
close  of  a  survey  of  the  recent  deposition  of  Witiza  by 
Roderick,  and  the  dispersion  of  the  troops  led  by  Egiza 
and  Pelayo,  the  two  sons  of  the  former,  that  the  dialogue 
thus  proceeded — 

"  Thou  hast  seen  Moussa  Ben  Nassir  W 

"  At  Tangier.  It  was  my  counsel  that  moved  the 
Saracen  to  the  conquest  of  that  city." 

"  Wherefore  did  he  not  advance  upon  Ceuta  ?  Now, 
when  two  factions  rage — when  the  children  of  the  Goth 
and  the  descendants  of  the  Roman  struggle  against  each 
other,  and  when  the  people  of  the  soil,  hating  both  and 
fearing  both,  are  not  unwilling  to  join  with  any  power 
which  may  give  battle  to  their  double  tyrannies — now  is 
the  time  for  the  Saracen — now  is  the  time,  Melchior,  for 
the  Hebrew." 

"  Such  was  my  counsel.  In  Moussa's  private  ear  I 
unfolded  the  history  of  our  people,  and  of  the  people 
who  oppress  them,  and  strongly  urged  his  march  upon 
the  Rock  of  Calpe,  whose  fortress  then  was  but  meanly 
defended." 

«  Why  did  he  refuse  I" 

44  He  dared  not,  for  he  had  been  summoned  back  to 
Syria  by  the  calif,  who  demanded  from  him  an  account 
L2 


126  PELAYO. 

of  his  expedition ;  but  my  counsel  was  not  forgotten,  for, 
as  thou  knowest,  when  he  came  back  from  Syria,  he 
laid  siege  to  Ceuta." 

"  But  failed." 

"  He  came  too  late.  Julian,  the  Count  of  Consue- 
gra,  who  is  generalissimo  of  the  coasts  of  Andalusia, 
came  to  its  defence,  and  so  severe  was  the  defeat  of  the 
Saracen,  that  it  will  be  long  before  he  is  prepared  to  re- 
new the  invasion." 

"  But  he  will  renew  it  ?" 

*'  I  fear  it." 

«  How !     Thou  fearest  it,  Melchior  ?" 

"  I  do  fear  it,  Adoniakim ;  since  I  sorrow  to  think 
the  Hebrew  has  not  more  to  gain  from  the  success  of 
the  Saracen,  than  he  has  to  fear  from  the  continued 
power  of  the  Goth.  The  Hebrew  will  be  too  feeble  to 
give  weight  to  either  side  when  a  new  power  comes  into 
the  field.  With  the  contentions  of  the  old  we  may  do 
much.  We  may  turn  the  scale  to  the  party  which  shall 
most  extend  our  privileges,  and  from  which  we  may  re- 
ceive the  best  pledges  of  security." 

"  Could  it  be  so,"  exclaimed  the  other,  despondingly. 

"  Hear  me  !"  said  Melchior.  "  Don  Roderick,  the 
Goth,  is  now  upon  the  throne,  and  has  been  proclaimed 
in  all  the  cities.  The  sons  of  Witiza  have  dispersed 
their  followers,  but  they  are  not  overthrown.  One  of 
them  I  have  conferred  with  on  the  part  of  the  Hebrew. 
To  him  I  have  pledged  our  aid — from  him  I  have  had 
pledges  in  return,  which  shall  give  us  the  privileges  we 
demand — security  in  our  religion,  property,  and  persons, 
upon  the  payment  of  a  regular  and  certain  tribute.  For 
this  security  we  will  give  him  the  aid  and  treasure  we 
should  else  have  given  to  the  Saracen ;  and  strong  is 
my  hope,  and  confident  my  faith,  that  we  shall  be  at  last 
successful  in  obtaining  the  end  that  we  desire  :  for  nev- 
er, oh,  Adoniakim,  have  mine  eyes  looked  upon  a  youth 
more  noble  to  the  sight,  more  like  a  prince  after  the 


PELAYO.  127 

fashion  of  the  ancient  kings  of  Jerusalem,  than  Pelayo. 
With  a  brow  that  is  high  and  commanding,  and  an  eye 
that  is  bright  with  unwavering  fires — with  a  cheek  that 
does  not  blanch,  and  a  lip  whose  form  is  full  of  a  sweet 
majesty,  the  face  and  air  of  that  noble  prince  are  a  guar- 
antee for  all  that  is  high  in  mind  and  noble  in  soul.  He 
will  not  do  us  wrong;  he  will  keep  his  faith  with  us,  I 
am  fond  to  believe,  for  I  have  had  signs  and  tokens 
which  tell  me  to  confide  in  the  promise  which  he  brings 
us." 

"  Wisest  among  us,  as  thou  art,  Melchior,  will  it  not 
be  rash  too  readily  to  confide  in  any  of  these  Gothic 
princes  1  Thou  hast  not  forgotten  the  false  Witebrode, 
and  the  base  Count  Genseric  ?  Did  they  not  promise 
freely  till  they  possessed  themselves  of  our  substance, 
and  did  they  not  then  scorn  and  desert  us  ?" 

"  Pelayo  is  a  prince  not  after  the  make  of  these,"  said 
Melchior,  hastily.  "But  thou  shalt  see  and  confer  with 
him  thyself.  To-morrow  night  he  will  seek  me  at  my 
dwelling.  Thither  shalt  thou  go  also." 

"  Hast  thou  the  treasure  from  the  Hebrews  at  Me- 
rida?" 

"  It  isfogafe  with  me." 

^"  And  the  weapons  of  war — are  they  out  of  sight  in 
secure  places'?" 

"They  are  ready,  yet  remote.  All  this  has  been 
cared  for." 

"  And  Thyrza  ? — thou  hast  said  nothing  of  thy  child, 
Melchior.  Thou  hast  not  left  her  still  in  the  tents  of  the 
Saracen?" 

"  She  is  with  me ;  but  the  guise  of  a  boy,  after  the  Ro- 
man fashion,  conceals  the  person  of  my  child.  It  were 
not  well  that  the  eye  of  a  Gothic  noble  should  look  upon 
one  so  lovely." 

"  Thou  art  right.  It  were  but  a  dove's  plea  to  the 
kite,  the  prayer  of  womanly  innocence  in  the  relentless 
ear  of  the  Goth.  Ah,  Melchior,  the  brute  vices  walk  at 


128  PELAVO. 

noonday  through  the  land,  and  none  so  pure  as  to  feel 
offence  at  their  presence.  A  weak  hold  has  virtue  here 
against  the  vice  of  the  nobles,  to  whom  goodness  is  a 
thing  of  mock,  and  debauchery  and  sin  the  practice  and 
the  credit  which  give  command,  and  are  the  decoration 
and  the  attribute  of  power.  There  should  be  a  fearful 
hour  at  hand,  my  brother,  if  the  wrath  of  Jehovah  be  not 
forgotten  eternally." 

"It  is  a  bolt  suspended  only,  Adoniakim.  The  pun- 
ishment is  at  hand,  and  it  may  be  that,  at  this  very  hour, 
we,  humble  and  aged  as  we  are,  are  the  chosen  instru- 
ments for  bearing  the  red  vengeance  into  the  courts  and 
palaces  of  this  Gothic  tyranny.  May  Jehovah  gird  up 
our  loins,  and  give  us  strength  and  heart  to  perform  his 
wishes.  Let  us  strive  to  be  ready  for  the  call,  Adonia- 
kim, that  the  goodly  purpose  fail  not  through  lack  of 
ours." 

"Amen!"  exclaimed  the  other,  solemnly;  and  they 
both  arose  from  their  place  of  conference,  and  turned  to- 
wards the  apartment  which  they  had  left.  Heedful  of 
their  movements,  the  unhappy  youth,  who  had  been 
meanly  hearkening  to  their  speech  the  while,  rose  from 
his  place  of  watch,  and,  stealing  cautiously  to  the  couch 
where  he  had  before  been  lying,  resumed  once  more  the 
show  of  those  slumbers  which  had  been  partially  feigned 
before.  The  two  looked  upon  him,  but  without  seeking 
to  disturb  him ;  and  regarding  his  sleep  as  real,  the  aged 
Melchior  took  leave  of  his  friend  hi  a  whisper  and  with 
a  cautious  footstep. 

When  he  was  gone  a  while,  the  youth  seemed  to 
awaken. 

"  Thou  hast  slept  long,  Amri,  my  son,"  said  Adonia- 
kim, in  a  tone  of  ill-suppressed  fondness,  "  but  thy  sleep 
has  been  troubled,  and  thy  limbs  were  tossed  about  un- 
quietly,  as  if  the  fever-plague  had  fallen  upon  thee.  The 
veins  in  thy  brow,  even  now,  are  swollen  greatly,  and 


PELAYO.  129 

there  is  a  red  flush  upon  thy  cheek,  which  is  a  token  that 
thy  sleep  hath  availed  thee  little." 

"  Is  it  not  enough,  my  father,  that  my  sleep  should  be 
troubled,  when  thine  eye  is  turned  upon  me  in  anger  1" 

"  Alas  !  my  son,  and  wherefore  should  my  anger  dis- 
turb thy  slumbers,  when  thou  dost  give  it  so  little  heed 
in  thy  wakening  1  Thou  hast  too  little  thought  of  me 
to  make  it  a  matter  of  concern  to  thee  whether  my  looks 
be  those  of  love  or  anger.  Would  it  were  otherwise,  my 
son." 

"It  is  otherwise,  my  father — thou  dost  me  wrong. 
Surely  I  seek  thy  love — surely  I  grieve  at  thy  displeas- 
ure ;  but  my  mood  is  wild,  and  the  youthful,  like  my- 
self, do  not  often  think  the  grave  thoughts  which  make 
propriety  in  the  estimation  of  the  aged.  It  is  not  reason, 
but  rather  a  harsh  injustice,  when  the  blood  is  quick  in 
the  veins,  and  the  heart  heats  high  with  young  life,  to  ask 
that  the  step  be  slow  like  that  of  age  and  wisdom,  and 
that  all  the  movements  of  youth  do  wait  for  a  directing 
reason." 

"  There  is  truth  in  what  thou  sayest,  Amri,"  responded 
the  father,  solicitous  to  excuse  in  his  weakness  the  er- 
rors of  a  character  which  his  calm  judgment  could  not 
forbear  to  see.  Amri  was  cunning  enough  to  know  his 
father's  foible,  and  of  this  knowledge  he  availed  him- 
self whenever  he  had  a  suit  to  present. 

"  JFhere  is  truth  in  what  thou  sayest,  Amri ;  and,  could 
I  deem  that  such  were  thy  nature, — that  thou  didst  only 
*  err  from  quick  blood,  and  with  the  natural  fondness  of 
youth — " 

«*  Believe  it,  father—"  and  he  put  his  arms  about  the 
neck  of  his  doting  sire,  while  he  continued  thus  : 

**  Believe  it.  I  know  that  I  have  erred;  but  I  have 
erred  through  youth,  and  not  from  a  wilful  love  of  error. 
I  will  strive  to  amend  it ;  only  be  not  wroth  with  me,-— 
look  not  again  in  anger  upon  me." 


130  PELAYO. 

"Yet,  these  moneys,  Amri?"  said  the  old  man,  stern- 
ly, and  withdrawing  himself  from  the  youth's  embrace. 

"  It  was  my  folly,  my  father, — my  madness.  The 
young  Lord  Astigia — " 

"  A  vicious  youth,  Amri, — a  debauched  and  dishonest 
youth !  A  poor  noble  ;  and  such  are  the  worst.  What 
has  he  to  do  with  a  Jew  1 — one  of  a  people  whom  he 
scorns  ?  What,  but  to  gather  means  for  the  profligacy 
which  he  loves.  And  what  shouldst  thou,  a  Hebrew, — 
one  of  a  different  and  a  singular  people, — what  shouldst 
thou  do  with  him  1  What  hast  thou  in  common  with-  a 
Gothic  noble  ?  Thou  shalt  give  him  up — thou  shalt  fly 
from  him — thou  shalt  leave  his  haunts,  Amri,  or  I  give 
thee  not  these  moneys." 

"  I  will,  my  father,  even  as  thou  sayest,"  was  the  do- 
cile reply. 

"  That  is  well,  Amri ;  forgive  me  if  I  have  spoken 
thus  harsh  to  thee,  my  son ;  but  it  is  for  thy  good  that  I 
have  spoken." 

"  Do  I  not  know  it,  my  father?"      . 

"  Thou  shalt  have  the  money,  Amri ;  thou  shalt  pay 
thy  debt  to  this  noble, — to  all  of  those  that  have  claims 
upon  thee." 

"  Thanks,  dear  father." 

"  They  shall  not  say  that  the  Jew  is  mean  and  dis- 
honest, as  it  is  their  wont  to  say.  Thou  shalt  pay  thy 
debts  to  them  in  honour,  though  they  have  won  them,  as 
thou  sayest,  in  dishonour." 

"  By  trick,  father — by  cheat — as  I  live." 

"  Thou  shalt  pay  them,  nevertheless,  my  son  ;  but  as 
thou  knowest  them,  thou  wilt  seek  them  no  more  when 
thou  hast  done  so.  Here  are  purses.  This  for  the 
Lord  Astigia.  It  is  even  more  than  thou  sayest  is  his 
demand  ;  but  give  it  him  all ;  he  shall  know  that  thou 
hast  no  meanness,  even  if  such  be  the  failing  of  thy  peo- 
ple. This  for  Edacer, — another  spendthrift, — a  de- 
bauched and  decayed  noble, — another  of  those  who  have 


PELAYO.  131 

nothing  of  nobility  but  the  name,  and  stink  in  poverty 
even  as  they  stink  in  vice.  Thou  wilt  leave  his  gather- 
ings also :  thou  wilt  quit  their  walks.  Thou  shalt 
promise  me  this,  Amri." 

"  I  will — I  do,  my  father." 

"  God  bless  thee,  my  son,  that  thou  speakest  me  so 
fair  !  Truly  do  I  think  thou  wilt  keep  thy  word  to  me — • 
that  thou  wilt  go  out  from  among  these  vicious  and  de- 
bauched youth  that  have  so  led  thee  astray,  my  son, 
from  thy  God,  thy  people,  thy  own  duty,  and  thy  father's 
love.  Keep  thy  faith  to  me,  Amri,  and  my  heart  is 
thine,  and  my  wealth  is  thine,  and  I  will  bless  thee  with 
a  father's  blessing  when  the  death  angel  waits." 

"  Believe  me,  father,  thou  wilt  not  need  to  rebuke  me 
again.  I  will  but  rid  me  of  these  dues  to  Astigia  and 
to  Edacer,  and  see  them  no  more." 

"  Go  not  to  them ;  send  them  the  moneys  ;  avoid 
them  and  the  places^  which  they  haunt.  Their  presence 
makes  an  atmosphere  of  death  in  the  house,  where  they 
gather  together  for  sin.  It  is  a  taint  that  is  like  a  pesti- 
lence ;  it  goeth  in  at  the  nostril,  and  thou  knowest  not 
of  the  dangers,  my  son,  till  thou  art  lost  for  ever.  Keep 
away  from  the  haunts  of  the  wicked,  I  pray  thee,  Amri." 

"  As  thou  sayest,  my  father." 

"  Thou  hast  spoken,  Amri,  as  I  would  have  thee,  my 
son.  Thy  ear  is  open  to  my  word ;  thy  heart  is  not 
leprous.  No,  no  !"  he  muttered,  half  to  himself, — "  no, 
no !  Melchior  has  done  him  injustice, — he  sees  not  the 
heart  of  the  youth  as  I  behold  it.  He  knows  him  only 
in  the  day  of  his  wilful  boyhood.  No,  no  ! — the  eye  is 
dark  and  sweet ;  it  is  too  like  that  of  his  blessed  mother 
to  speak  falsely  now  to  my  own.  Go,  my  son ! — go, 
Amri,  to  thy  chamber,  and  may  the  wing  of  the  good 
angel  bend  over  thy  slumbers  !" 


132  PELAYO. 


V. 

THE  youth  retired,  but  not  to  his  chamber — not,  cer- 
tainly, to  his  slumbers.  With  a  stealthy  step  he  with- 
drew from  the  dwelling,  after  such  time  had  elapsed  as 
he-  deemed  sufficient  to  wrap  his  father  in  that  sleep 
which  he  did  not  himself  seek.  A  whispered  word  to 
the  porter,  who  appeared  to  be  in  his  confidence,  pro- 
cured him  a  free  passage  into  the  street;  and  it  was  not 
long  before  the  youth,  so  earnest  in  his  pledges  to  a  too 
indulgent  parent,  was  revelling  with  the  most  worthless 
comrades  in  scenes  of  the  most  degrading  debauchery. 
His  associates,  as  we  have  seen,  were  of  another  caste, 
and  a  higher  condition  than  his  own.  They  tolerated  the 
despised  Hebrew,  not  as  an  associate,  but  as  a  minister 
to  their  excesses.  The  money  drawn  from  the  coffers 
of  his  sire  paid  for  their  indulgences ;  and  the  unhappy 
and  depraved  youth  was  not  unwilling  to  share  their 
countenance  and  their  excesses  on  terms  so  unequal. 

"  Thou  art  late,  Amri,"  were  the  first  words,  uttered 
in  a  harsh  tone  by  one  of  the  dissolute  young  nobles,  as 
he  made  his  appearance. 

"  Too  soon,"  cried  another,  "  if  he  has  not  brought 
the  money." 

"  He  knows  better  than  to  come  before  us  without 
it,"  said  the  former,  and  a  harsh  frown  gathered  upon 
his  countenance  as  he  spoke.  "How  now,  Jew!  thou 
hast  not  dared — " 

"  The  money  is  here,  my  lord  :  be  not  impatient ;  I 
have  brought  thee  all, — the  whole  sum,  and  even  more." 

"  Good ! — I  knew  thee,  Amri,  too  well,  to  fear  that 
thou  wouldst  play  false,"  said  Astigia,  as  he  received  the 
purse  and  proceeded  to  tell  over  the  amount. 

"  And  what  hast  thou  to  say  to  me  V  demanded  the 
brutal  Edacer. 


PELAYO.  133 

"  Thou  hast  not  been  forgotten,  my  lord,"  replied  the 
Jew,  respectfully,  yet  with  a  tone  of  ease  that  showed 
how  confident  he  was  of  favour  when  the  bearer  of  such 
a  burden  as  that  which  he  now  placed  in  the  ready  hands 
of  his  questioner. 

Provided  now  with  the  means  of  indulgence,  these 
hopeful  youths  sallied  forth  for  the  purposes  of  excess. 
They  rushed  like  madmen  through  the  streets,  whoop- 
ing, howling,  assailing  the  peaceful  whom  they  met,  and 
disturbing  the  midnight  quiet  of  the  city.  They  then 
retired  to  a  house  allotted  'to  the  purposes  of  debauchery, 
where,  with  wine  and  profligate  women,  they  passed  the 
remainder  of  the  night.  By  the  dawn,  half  inebriated 
and  quite  exhausted,  the  son  of  Adoniakim  stole  silent- 
ly to  his  chamber,  having  obtained  a  ready  entrance  to 
his  father's  dwelling  from  the  porter,  who  was  in  his 
pay.  When  he  awakened,  his  father  was  about  to  go 
forth.  He  watched  the  departure  of  the  aged  man ; 
then,  gliding  down  to  the  place  where  the  porter  stood 
in  waiting,  he  thus  counselled  him : 

"  Go  forth,  Jared, — follow  Adoniakim,  and  tell  me 
where  thou  seest  him  enter.  Note  thou  his  movements, 
and  suffer  none  to  escape  thee.  I  have  gold  for  thee  if 
thou  reportest  truly  to  me  in  this  matter.  Go  ! — mean- 
while, I  will  wait  for  thee  at  the  gate." 

The  subservient  porter  departed,  as  a  spy  upon  his 
master;  and  the  dishonourable  son,  throwing  over  his 
shoulder  the  rude  cloak  which  the  other  had  worn,  now 
took  the  place  of  his  watch  at  the  entrance.  His  mo- 
tives may  in  part  be  told,  as  we  know  them  from  himself. 

"  Adoniakim  is  gone  to  the  dwelling  of  Melchior :  t 
must  find  out  the  way  thither  also.  I  must  see  Thyrza, 
the  maiden  of  whom  they  speak,  and  of  whom  I  had 
sweet  glimpses  in  my  boyhood :  she  must  now  be  a 
goodly  woman,  and  my  father  has  told  me  she  is  lovely." 

While  thus  he  addressed  himself  in  soliloquy,  a  slight 
blow  upon  the  gate  over  which  he  watched  warned  him 

Vot,.  I M 


134  PELAYO. 

of  his  newly-assumed  duties.  When  he  opened  it,  a 
slender  and  handsome  boy  stood  before  him. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  ?"  demanded  Amri. 

"  This  to  Adoniakim,"  said  the  messenger,  "from 
Namur  of  the  Porch.  It  brings  him  tidings  of  the  trade 
to  Algeziras." 

"  Adoniakim  is  not  within,"  responded  the  porter,  as 
he  received  the  packet  which  the  boy  brought,  surveying 
curiously,  as  he  replied,  the  smooth,  soft,  and  harmoni- 
ous features  of  his  countenance,  and  the  fine  symmetry 
of  his  form. 

"  Namur  of  the  Porch  has  a  goodly  page  in  thee," 
was  the  complaisant  remark  with  which  Amri  continued 
his  speech.  "  What  is  thy  name,  and  where  did  he  find 
thee?  I  will  look  to-morrow  for  one  like  thee  in  the 
same  place." 

"  And  what  hast  thou,  a  porter,  to  do  with  a  page  ln 
was  the  reply  of  the  boy.  "  See  to  thy  master's  gate, 
sirrah,  and  keep  thy  speech  for  his  ear.  Give  him  the 
packet,  as  thou  fearest  the  whip,  the  moment  when  he 
shall  return." 

And  the  boy  turned  away  as  he  spoke,  leaving  Amri 
too  much  astounded  to  reply.  When  he  was  gone,  Amri, 
after  his  usual  practice,  and  by  an  art  with  which  he  was 
familiar,  contrived  to  unfold  the  packet  and  possess  him- 
self of  the  contents  without  impairing  the  silk  and  seal 
which  had  secured  it. 

"  Ha !  Melchior !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  looked  on  the 
contents.  "  Melchior!  he  is  the  writer — and  that  boy — 
that  page — beard  of  Samuel ! — that  boy  must  be  Thyr- 
za!" 

With  an  oath  he  dashed  open  the  wicket,  and  rushed 
into  the  open  court — but  he  did  so  in  vain.  The  page 
was  gone,  and  he  returned  to  his  station  cursing  the 
dulness  which  had  suffered  him  to  misconceive  one  so 
lovely. 


PELAYO,  135 


VI. 

BUT  the  tidings  which  the  letter  contained  were  im- 
portant. -They  ran  as  follows  : — 

"  Adoniakim,  my  brother,  the  hunters  are  upon  my 
path.  They  have  pursued  me  to  destroy,  even  from 
the  country  of  Algeziras  ;  and  they  bear  the  commands 
of  the  tyrant  to  take  no  slumber  to  their  eyelids,  and  no 
rest  to  their  feet,  until  they  have  secured  the  worthless 
but  persecuted  Melchior.  This,  from  a  true  friend,  com- 
pels me  to  fly  the  dwelling  which  had  received  me,  and 
to  seek  for  another  yet  more  secure.  I  am  now  with 
Namur  of  the  Porch,  where  thou  wilt  find  me  at  evening." 

There  were  other  matters  in  this  epistle  which  Amri 
could  not  so  well  comprehend.  That  which  he  under- 
stood was  sufficient,  however,  for  his  purpose.  While 
he  read,  he  conceived  a  plan  in  his  mind  which  he  was 
impatient  to  execute ;  and  he  scarcely  waited  for  the 
porter,  Jared,  to  resume  his  place,  so  anxious  was  he  to 
prosecute  his  new  purpose. 

"  Thou  hast  seen  him  in  the  way  he  went,  Jared  ?" 
was  his  question  to  the  spy.  The  latter  told  him  of  the 
route  taken  by  his  father. 

"  It  is  well — here  is  gold — thou  hast  served  me  ably, 
and  thou  shalt  have  yet  more.  Take  thy  cloak  now, 
and  resume  thy  place,  Jared,  for  Adoniakim  will  soon 
be  here." 

It  was  not  his  purpose  to  await  the  coming  of  his  fa- 
ther. 

"  He  would  not  tell  me  of  Melchior — of  his  place  of 
dwelling.  I  care  not  now.  He  shall  find  that  I  needed 
not  his  aid  to  bring  me  to  a  sight  of  the  maiden : — and 
Melchior,  too — wherefore  should  I  care  for  him,  whose 
thought  and  word  of  me  are  so  unfriendly  ?  He  shall 
see." 


136  PELAYO. 

Thus  speaking,  he  hurried  from  the  dwelling,  while 
yet  Adoniakim  was  absent.  He  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  dwelling  of  Edacer. 

"  Why  art  thou  here  ?"  demanded  the  fierce  and  bru- 
tal Goth.  "  Why  comest  thou  to  me  at  this  hour,  Jew  ? 
Dost  thou  not  apprehend  blows  for  thy  intrusion  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  my  good  lord,  but  I  came  upon  thy  ser- 
vice. Wouldst  thou  not  have  moneys  V 

"  Dost  thou  ask,  Amri  ? — look  at  the  purse  which  but 
last  night  I  got  from  thy  hands." 

It  lay  almost  exhausted  upon  the  table. 

"There  is  more  in  thy  hands  already,  if  thou  wilt 
avail  thyself  of  it,"  said  Amri  to  the  now  complaisant 
Goth. 

"  Speak." 

"  Thou  hast  heard  of  Melchior  of  the  Desert  ?" 

"  Have  I  not  ?  The  traitor ! — he  who  gave  Auria 
into  the  hands  of  the  Saracen  infidel." 

"  The  same." 

"  What  of  him  ?"  demanded  the  Goth. 

"  Thou  knowest  that  a  great  price  is  put  upon  his 
head  by  Don  Roderick  V1 

"  Ay,  I  know  it.  But  what  does  this  concern  me  ? 
Speak  out — I  am  impatient." 

"  Melchior  is  in  Cordova." 

"  Sayest  thou  !"  exclaimed  Edacer,  starting  to  his  feet 
from  the  couch  on  which  he  had  been  lying.  "  Where  ?" 

"  Thou  shalt  know  after  thou  hast  prepared  thyself. 
Thou  shalt  get  the  soldiers  in  readiness  for  him,  and  at 
midnight  thou  shalt  lead  them  to  a  place  which  I  shall 
name  to  thee  hereafter." 

"  Do  this,  Amri,  and  thou  shalt  have  good  share  of  the 
reward." 

"  What  share  ?"  asked  the  Hebrew,  with  something 
like  a  sneer  of  scorn  upon  his  lips.  The  noble  saw  not 
the  expression  as  he  replied— 


PELAYO.  137 

"  A  goodly  share,  be  satisfied.  Come  to  me  at  even- 
ing, and  direct  our  way." 

"  I  may  not  guide  thee,"  said  the  Jew,  abruptly.  "I 
will  tell  thee  of  thy  route,  but  I  may  not  guide  thee  to 
the  spot.  Melchior  is  a  Jew  like  myself — he  is  one  of 
the  tribe  of  my  father." 

The  noble  laughed  loudly  and  scornfully  at  the  dis- 
tinction which  Amri  made. 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  he.  "  Let  thy  words  teach  us  the 
way,  we  shall  not  ask  thy  finger  to  point  it  out.  Thou 
wilt  be  here  at  evening  with  thy  tidings  ?" 

"  I  will,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  traitorous  youth  de- 
parted on  the  prosecution  of  his  own  schemes.  At 
evening,  punctual  to  his  appointment,  he  came  to  Eda- 
cer.  The  Goth  had  made  his  preparations,  and  his 
dwelling  contained  the  soldiers  who  were  to  arrest  the 
outlaw. 

"  At  midnight,  seek  the  Porch  of  Namur,"  said  the 
Jew.  "  The  wicket  on  the  right  hand  of  the  court  leads 
to  an  ancient  dwelling  of  stone.  Behind  that  is  another 
of  greater  size,  and  around  it  many,  but  none  so  large. 
A  tower  leans,  as  if  about  to  fall,  on  one  side  of  the 
greater  dwelling.  In  that  tower  will  Melchior  be 
found." 

"  If  thou  liest,  Amri— -if  thou  leadest  us  falsely,"  said 
Edacer,  "  thy  father's  gold  shall  pay  for  thy  insolence." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  Jew.  "  It  is  there  that  Melchior 
has  pledged  another  to  be  at  midnight." 

"  And  thou  wilt  not  go  with  us,  Amri  ?"  demanded  the 
Goth. 

"  He  is  of  my  father's  tribe,"  said  Amri,  as  he  left 
the  apartment. 

M2 


138  PELAYO. 


VII. 

THE  design  of  Amri  was  a  deep  one.  He  desired, 
in  the  first  place,  to  obtain  access  to  the  presence  of 
Melchior  and  of  his  daughter.  This,  at  present,  seemed 
impossible.  His  father  had  kept  him  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  Melchior's  visit,  and  exhibited  no  soit  of  dis- 
position to  extend  his  confidence.  In  no  way  could  he 
have  shown  the  possession  of  the  secret,  unless  by  an 
exposure  of  the  dishonourable  means  which  he  had  taken 
to  procure  it.  He  adopted  means  yet  more  dishonour- 
able to  effect  his  purpose.  Having  prepared  the  ene- 
mies of  Melchior,  it  was  now  his  purpose  to  defeat 
their  aim.  Such  a  service  must  commend  him,  as  he 
thought,  to  the  person  he  had  betrayed,  and  procure  him 
a  degree  of  confidence  which  he  well  perceived  he  was 
not  likely  to  obtain  otherwise.  He  cared  but  little  for 
the  annoyance  which  such  a  proceeding  must  bring  to 
the  aged  man, — he  thought  still  less  of  the  degrading 
falsehoods  and  dishonourable  means  through  which  he 
would  have  to  wade  to  effect  his  object.  These  were 
no  considerations  to  one  so  base  of  heart  as  Amri. 

An  hour  before  the  time  at  which  the  proposed  visit 
of  the  officers  was  to  be  made  in  search  of  the  outlaw, 
at  the  Porch  of  Namur,  Amri  hurried  to  the  spot.  He 
pressed  his  way,  by  a  cunning  story  and  the  utterance 
of  his  own  name,  through  the  persons  appointed  to  admit 
the  visiters,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  Adoniakim,  his  father, 
who  was  present,  not  less  than  of  all  the  rest,  he  stood 
suddenly  before  them. 

"  What  brings  you  here,  my  son  ?"  cried  Adoniakim, 
with  alarm,  seeing  the  wellrfeigned  apprehensions  of  the 
youth. 

"Your  safety — your  safety,   my  father.     Melchior, 


Kfr  PELAYO.  139 

your  enemies — the  guards  of  the  Goth — they  will  be 
soon  upon  thee." 

"How! — speak,  my  son,"  cried  Adoniakim,  in  ter- 
ror ;  but  Melchior  said  nothing,  and  looked  calmly  upon 
the  youth. 

"  The  officer  of  Don  Roderick,  with  many  soldiers, 
even  now  bend  their  way  in  search  of  Melchior." 

"  How  knowest  thou  this,  Amri  ?"  asked  Melchior ; 
"  how  didst  thou  thyself  learn  so  readily  to  seek  me  out 
in  my  dwelling  ?" 

"  Ay,  tell  me,  Amri,  how  didst  thou  learn  the  abiding- 
place  of  Melchior  V* 

"From  Edacer,  the  Goth,  my  father,"  replied  the 
youth,  with  unexampled  effrontery :  "  thou  knowest,  my 
father,  of  the  moneys  I  had  in  trust  for  him  ?" 
"  I  do — I  do, — speak  nothing  of  that,  my  son." 
"  I  sought  him  out  but  a  little  since,  that  I  might  de- 
liver them  into  his  hands.  There  were  persons  with  him, 
and  they  bade  me  wait  at  the  entrance=  It  was  then 
that  I  heard  loud  talking  from  within  concerning  Mel- 
chior, and  I  strove  to  hear  what  they  should  say  of  thee. 
It  was  by  this  means  that  I  came  to  know  of  thy  dwel- 
ling, for  the  soldier  who  spoke  pointed  it  out  with  great 
exactness  in  the  Porch  of  Namur,  and  I  found  that  they 
awaited  but  the  hour  of  midnight  to  approach  in  search 
of  thee.  When  I  heard  this,  my  father,  I  did  not  scru- 
ple to  seek  out  Melchior  in  his  seclusion,  though  it  was 
not  my  thought  to  find  thee  here  also,  and  exposed  to 
the  same  danger." 

"Now,  bless  thee,  my  son!"  cried  the  delighted 
father ;  "  thou  hast  done  rightly  and  well.  Said  I  not, 
Melchior, — said  L  not,  that  the  heart  was  right, — that 
the  warm  blood  and  the  giddy  head,  and  not  a  vicious 
spirit,  led  the  boy  erring  ?" 

"  Amri  has  done  us  good  service,  Adoniakim,  and  I 
give  him  thanks  for  the  good  disposition  and  the  ready 
speed  which  have  brought  him  here  to-night ;  and  yet  I 


HO  PELAYO. 

would  not  that  he  had  listened  secretly  to  the  language 
of  the  Gothic  noble  whom  he  had  styled  his  friend.  ^  It 
was  not  the  right  part  for  the  noble  spirit ;  and  while  we 
acknowledge  the  good  service,  Adoniakim,  we  must 
chide  the  means,  even  for  the  good  "of  the  youth,  by 
which  he  was  led  to  perform  it." 

"  Now  out  upon  the  preacher !"  said  Amri  to  himself, 
as  he  heard  this  rebuke  ;  but  he  bore  it  with  seeming 
humility,  for  he  well  perceived  the  necessity  of  moving 
cautiously  in  all  that  he  did  under  the  piercing  eye  of 
Melchior. 

"  We  must  provide  against  this  danger,  Namur. 
Thou  must  prepare  the  secret  passage,  while  I  send  one 
to  preserve  the  young  prince,  so  that  he  fall  not  into  the 
hands  of  his  enemies." 

This  was  said  by  Melchior,  in  a  whisper,  to  the  aged 
man  called  Namur  of  the  Porch — a  man  of  substance 
and  of  great  repute  among  his  tribe.  He  then  called  to 
him  Lamech.  As  the  features  of  the  boy,  whom  he  had 
seen  in  his  assumed  capacity  of  porter,  met  his  eye,  a 
strange  emotion  ran  through  the  veins  of  Amri.  He 
scarce  could  withdraw  his  glance  from  the  rich,  clear 
loveliness  of  her  countenance  ;  and  the  capricious  fancy 
which  prompted  him  curiously  to  seek  her  at  the  first, 
now  grew  into  a  strong  and  passionate  desire  to  possess 
her.  Melchior  led  her,  still  in  the  garb  of  a  boy,  and 
still  known  by  the  name  of  Lamech,  into  an  adjoining 
closet. 

"  Thyrza,  thou  dost  not  fear  to  go  forth  into  the  city  V9 

"  Father,  I  fear  nothing  which  thou  believest  right." 

"  Go,  then,  my  child,  to  the  outer  lodge  at  the  Porch 
of  Namur,  and  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  Prince  Pe- 
layo.  Thou  wilt  know  him  well,  methinks  ]" 

"  Well  I  know  him,  father." 

"  Guide  him  from  this  spot,  and  seek  me  in  the  dwel- 
ling of  Barzelius.  At  the  eastern  gate  I  myself  will  be 
in  waiting  to  receive  you ;  and  thither  we  shall  now 


PELAYO.  141 

retire.  Thou  fearest  not  to  trust  thyself  with  the  prince? 
— he  will  protect  thee  if  there  be  need." 

44 1  fear  nothing  with  him,  father.  He  is  a  noble,-— 
he—" 

She  paused,  and  her  words  became  confused.  The 
old  man  did  not  observe  the  interruption,  but  led  her 
forth,  saying,  . 

«  Thou  hast  thy  dagger  1  Leave  it  not ;  it  may  serve 
thee,  my  child,  in  some  dreadful  strait,  as  once  before 
it  served  thy  blessed  mother,  whom  yet  it  could  not  save. 
Heaven  keep  thee,  my  child !" 

He  led  her  forth  from  the  apartment  where  the  rest 
were  in  waiting,  and  long  after  she  had  gone  did  the 
eyes  of  Amri  bend  towards  the  dark  passageway  through 
which  she  had  departed. 


VIII. 

WHEN  she  had  gone,  a  secret  door  in  the  wall  was 
thrown  open,  through  which  Melchior,  Adoniakim,  and 
Amri  passed,  leaving  Namur,  the  proprietor  of  the  porch, 
to  meet  the  approaching  enemy, — a  task  to  which,  in 
the  persecuted  condition  of  the  Jews  in  that  time  and 
country,  he  had  long  before  been  familiar. 

Meanwhile  the  Jewish  maiden,  with  a  heart  that 
trembled  with  various  emotions,  but  with  a  step  as  con- 
fident as  if  she  were  really  of  the  sex  whose  habiliments 
she  wore,  made  her  way,  as  she  had  been  directed  by 
her  father,  to  the  lodge  which  stood  at  the  entrance  of 
the  porch.  Here,  concealed  in  a  dark  recess  of  the 
wall,  she  took  her  station,  and  patiently  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  person  she  had  been  sent  to  guide.  An 
hour,  probably,  had  elapsed,  when  her  ears  distinguished 
the  sound  as  of  many  persons  approaching.  There  was 
a  hum  of  voices,  the  tread  of  several  following  feet,  and 
once  she  distinguished  a  rattling  noise,  as  of  the  heavy 


142  PELAYO, 

iron  head  of  a  lance  clashing  against  the  solid  walL 
Cautiously,  and  trembling  all  the  while,  she  stole  forth 
to  the  entrance  of  the  little -recess  where  she  had  sta- 
tioned herself,  and  her  eye  discerned,  moving  down  a 
dim  lane  that  stretched  away  into  the  distance  on  her 
right,  a  group  as  of  armed  men.  She  saw  in  the  star- 
light the  glittering  of  steel ;  and  she  plainly  saw  one 
shining  helmet,  towering  brightly  in  advance  of  the  rest. 
At  that  moment  a  light  but  firm  footfall,  near  at  hand, 
also  reached  her  ears.  She  turned ;  and,  though  the 
approaching  person  was  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  she  could 
not  doubt  that  it  was  him  she  sought.  The  erect  and 
elevated  form,  the  free,  unhesitating  tread,  all  spoke  for 
Pelayo ;  and,  perhaps,  there  was  an  instinct  in  her  own 
bosom  that  needed  no  aid  from  her  senses  to  speak  for 
his  presence. 

He,  too,  seemed  to  have  discerned  the  coming  ene- 
my ;  for  once  he  paused,  and  his  head  was  turned,  as  if 
inquiringly,  in  the  direction  of  the  intruders.  At  that 
moment  she  emerged  lightly  from  the  recess,  and  her 
slight  hand  and  trembling  fingers  plucked  him  by  the 
skirts  of  his  cloak.  He  started,  and  his  ready  hand 
clutched  his  dagger. 

"  Lamech,"  said  the  maiden,  in  a  whisper,  "  Lamech 
— I  come  from  Melchior." 

"  Ha !  where  is  he  ?' 

She  motioned  him  to  follow  her,  and  led  the  way  into 
the  recess  from  which  she  had  just  emerged.  He  fol- 
lowed her  promptly,  and  a  few  words  told  him  all,  and 
accounted  for  her  presence. 

"  These  are  the  soldiers  now,  sir — my  lord.  We 
must  keep  in  silence  here  till  they  have  passed." 

"  Get  thy  dagger  ready  in  the  meanwhile,  Lamech, 
for  they  may  think  it  well  to  look  into  this  alley.  How 
now — wherefore  dost  thou  tremble  ?  Thy  fears  will  not 
make  them  blind,  nor  better  thy  own  strength.  Pluck  up 
thy  spirits,  and  fear  nothing." 


PELAYO.  143 

.Well  might  she  tremble.  She  stood  beside  the  Prince 
Pelayo,  and  his  hand  rested  upon  her  shoulder  while  he 
spoke.  The  voices  of  the  soldiers  were  now  distinctly 
heard,  and  it  could  be  distinguished  by  the  two  that  they 
spoke  of  Melchior  and  of  the  promised  reward.  La- 
mech  trembled  like  a  leaf  in  the  October  winds,  as  he 
heard  their  fell  threatenings.  Pelayo  felt  distinctly  the 
beatings  of  that  fluttering  heart,  a*nd,  in  a  whisper,  endeav- 
oured to  reassure  it. 

"  Thy  father  is  safe  now,  Lamech,  and  we  are  safe, 
I  doubt  not,  since,  in  their  great  thirst  to  pursue  him,  they 
will  not  pause  to  search  out  other  places  of  which  they 
have  no  suspicion.  Why  dost  thou  withdraw  from  me, 
boy,  and  bend  forward  as  if  thou  wouldst  go  forth  1  Move 
not ;  thy  weight  is  nothing  against  my  arm.  I  could  bear 
thee  like  a  child  in  flight." 

A  voice  was  heard  at  the  entrance  of  the  alley. 

"  Here  is  a  dark  hole — dark  enough  to  hide  a  dozen 
outlaws.  Shall  we  not  look  in  here  ?" 

Pelayo  thrust  the  trembling  boy,  as  he  heard  these 
words,  behind  him,  dropped  his  cumbrous  cloak  from  his 
shoulders,  and  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  alley,  prepared 
for  the  intruders.  But  the  words  of  the  fierce  Edacer  in 
reply  rendered  his  preparations  unnecessary. 

«  No — we  have  no  time  for  this.  I  know  where  the 
outlaw  is.  Let  us  haste,  and  we  shall  find  him.  We 
have  already  wasted  too  much  time  with  that  drunken 
Astigia.  On !" 

Their  heavy  tread  was  heard  passing  before  the  en- 
trance, and  Pelayo  resumed  his  cloak. 

"  Come,  boy — come,  Lamech,"  he  said,  in  gentle 
tones  to  the  maiden.  "  Thou  hast  nothing  to  fear  now, 
and  canst  lead  me  to  the  place  thy  father  appointed. 
Thou  art  but  a  frail  ally,  Lamech,  and  wouldst  not  stand 
well  the  assault  of  thine  enemy.  Thy  people  have  too 
long  been  wanting  to  the  strife,  and  may  not  lift  sword 
with  cool  hand  and  reckless  spirit." 


144  FELAYO. 

"  Yet  Judah  was  a  lion  once,  my  lord,"  was  the  re- 
sponse of  the  person  addressed. 

"  Thou  art  not  Judah,  then,  Lamech.  The  dove's 
spirit  is  thine  rather  than  the  lion's.  But  lead  on,  La- 
mech— lead  on,  and  fear  nothing.  Thy  hand  yet  trem- 
bles under  mine." 

This  was  true,  and  as  strange,  in  the  thought  of  the 
maiden,  as  it  was  true.  Why  should  her  hand  always 
tremble  when  it  met  that  of  Pelayo  ?  Why  should  her 
heart  tremble  when  she  heard  him  speak  ?  Why  should 
she  fear  him?  Did  she  fear  him,  and  wherefore  her 
emotions  ?  Vainly  did  she  ask  herself  these  questions. 
Her  thoughts  could  not  give  her  back  an  answer,  and 
her  heart  dared  not ! 


„ 

Ni 


IX. 


EDACER  found  no  victim.  The  bird  had  flown.  Old 
amur  received  the  intruders  with  as  little  emotion  as  if 
the  visit  had  been  expected,  and  the  disappointed  Goth 
led  his  myrmidons  away,  swearing  vengeance  upon  Amri, 
whom  he  supposed  to  have  deceived  him.  Meanwhile 
the  fugitives  sought  another  place  of  retreat  in  the  He- 
brew suburb — a  region  at  no  time  deficient  in  secret 
passages  and  haunts.  At  the  gate  of  the  dwelling  Mel- 
chior  received  his  daughter  and  the  prince.  The  latter 
he  conducted  into  an  apartment  removed  from  the  rest. 
He  had  his  purpose  in  this.  He  was  unwilling  that 
Amri  should  know  that  Prince  Pelayo  was  committed 
with  them,  and  in  the  city.  With  a  something  of  divine 
prescience,  he  suspected  the  honesty  of  the  son  of  Adoni- 
akim,  and  prudently  resolved  to  keep  from  his  knowledge 
as  much  as  he  could  of  the  designs  and  progress  of  the 
conspirators.  In  this  determination  he  had  a  stout  oppo- 
nent in  the  person  of  Adoniakim,  to  whom  Amri  had 
greatly  recommended  himself  by  what  he  had  unfolded 


PELAYO.  145 

of  his  doings  of  the  night.  Fond  and  confiding,  the  aged 
man  was  easily  assured  of  his  son's  discretion  and  patri- 
otism. Of  his  integrity  he  never  seemed  to  have  had 
a  doubt  It  was  after  a  warm  struggle,  therefore,  that 
Melchior  succeeded  in  impressing  on  him  the  necessity 
of  confiding  nothing  to  the  youth. 

"We  must  have  more  proof  of  his  discretion.  When 
he  has  given  up  these  profligate  associates  and  these 
idle  habits,  we  shall  confide  to  him  all ;  but  now — not 
yet,  Adoniakim.  There  is  too  much  at  risk,  and  we 
must  not  forget  that  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  others — of 
the  young  Prince  Pelayo,  and  of  the  brave  men  who  are 
pledged  with  him,  are  at  stake.  We  have  not  the  right 
to  unfold  our  knowledge  of  these  to  the  youth,  however 
much  we  esteem  him,  and  however  able  he  may  be  to 
maintain  the  trust." 

Accustomed  to  yield  to  Melchior,  Adoniakim  at  length 
forbore  to  press  the  matter ;  and,  returning  to  the  cham- 
ber in  which,  during  this  brief  conference,  they  had  left 
Amri,  the  task  devolved  upon  the  old  man  of  sending  his 
son  away.  The  duty  was  a  hard  one,  fond  as  the  father 
was,  and  esteeming  the  youth  worthy,  as  he  did,  to  par- 
take of  their  great  enterprise. 

"  Go  now,  my  son — go  back  to  the  dwelling,  and 
leave  it  not  again,  I  pray  thee,  till  my  return." 

"  What !  leave  thee  here,  my  father,  and  wherefore  ? 
Why  shouldst  thou  grope  thy  way  home  again  through 
the  gloomy  streets  at  so  late  an  hour,  when  thou  hast  a 
son  able,  like  myself,  to  succour  and  attend  thee  ?" 

"  Nay,  Amri,  I  shall  not  leave  the  dwelling  of  Mel- 
chior in  the  dark  hours.  It  will  be  bright  noonday  when 
I  return,  and  then  there  can  be  no  danger.  I  have  much 
of  grave  business  to  consult  upon  here  with  Melchior, 
and  I  need  not,  though  much  I  should  love,  thy  tendance. 
Thou  must  go." 

"  I  see  it,  I  see  it,  my  father,"  said  Amri,  impatiently, 
fpr  he  longed  once  more  to  behold  the  maiden,  whom  he 

VOL.  I.-N 


146  PELAYO. 

now  knew  as  such,  in  the  guise  of  the  page,  and  was  re- 
luctant, therefore,  to  depart. 

"  I  see  that  I  am  not  trusted  by  Melchior  or  by  thee. 
Thou  thinkest  me  a  rash  and  thoughtless  boy — mayhap 
— and  the  smile  of  Abraham  be  on  me,  for  it  is  sad  to 
think  so — mayhap,  a  vicious  one,  and  that  thou  mayst 
not  confide  to  me  thy  secrets.  But  I  know  them — I 
know  them  without  thy  words.  Thinkest  thou  I  am 
blind,  not  to  see  that  thou  art  toiling  for  Israel — that 
thou  aimest  for  his  freedom  from  the  bondage  of  the 
Goth?" 

"Oh,  my  son — Amri  —  where  gottest  thou  this 
knowledge  ?"  exclaimed  the  astounded  father.  But  the 
son  did  not  answer  the  inquiry,  though  he  continued  to 
speak. 

"  I  know  thy  purpose,  and  I  know  thou  dost  not  de- 
sire to  trust  me.  I,  thy  son — I,  the  son  of  Israel,  and 
bound  to  thy  people,  and  loving  them  no  less  than  thou 
and  Melchior." 

Melchior,  to  whose  ears  the  last  words  had  come  as 
he  was  entering  the  apartment,  now  spoke  in  a  rebuke 
which  silenced  the  voluble  declamation  of  the  presuming 
youth. 

"  Thou  dost  prove  thyself  deserving  of  thy  father's 
confidence  when  thou  dost  refuse  to  obey  his  com- 
mands. Go  to,  Amri, — thou  hast  yet  much  to  learn. 
If,  as  thou  sayest,  thou  knowest  thy  father's  purpose, 
and  the  labour  that  is  between  us,  thou  wilt  prove  to  us 
the  strength  of  thy  faith  and  wisdom  by  putting  a  seal 
on  thy  lips  henceforward,  heavy  like  that  of  Solomon. 
When  we  behold  thee  having  sealed  lips,  we  shall  know 
thee  to  be  prudent,  and  esteem  thee  to  be  wise  :  we  shall 
then  come  to  thee  for  counsel.  Go  now,  seek  thy  father's 
dwelling,  and  maintain  its  quiet,  as  a  good  son,  while  he 
remains  abroad.  Adoniakim  is  now  waited  for,  and,  if 
thou  goest  not,  thy  stay  will  be  but  tedious,  for  thou 
wilt  linger  here  alone." 


PELAYO.  147 

«  Let  the  page  Lamech  but  keep  with  me,  and  I  care 
not  for  the  night :  I  will  remain  in  waiting  for  my  father," 
was  the  suggestion  of  the  youth. 

"  The  boy  has  gone  to  his  repose,"  was  the  quiet 
answer  of  Melchior ;  but  his  eye  searched  narrowly  the 
features  of  the  rash  youth  who  stood  before  him.  The 
thought  of  Melchior  was  troubled.  Was  the  daughter  of 
his  heart  known  through  her  disguise  to  Amri  ?  He 
knew  not,  for  the  countenance  of  Amri  stood  the  close 
scrutiny  of  his  glance,  and  betrayed  none  of  the  secret 
thoughts  labouring  then  in  the  mind  of  the  profligate. 
In  a  moment  after,  hopeless  to  gain  his  object,  Amri 
departed  from  the  dwelling. 


THE  three,  Melchior,  Pelayo,  and  Adoniakim,  met 
in  secret  conference. 

.  "  Thy  brother — the  young  Prince  Egiza,"  said  Mel- 
chior to  P«layo, — "thou  shouldst  have  brought  him; 
thou  didst  promise  it." 

"  I  did,"  was  the  reply  of  Pelayo  ;  and  his  brow  was 
gloomy  as  he  spoke,  and  the  words  came  sternly  through 
his  clinched  teeth:  "I  did  promise  thee  his  presence, 
Melchior,  yet  have  brought  him  not.  Speak  not  of  him 
now,  I  pray  thee." 

"  He  does  not  shrink  from  us  ? — he  doth  not  refuse  ?" 

"  He  doth  not,  but  he  loiters  :  he  hath  been  a  lag- 
gard— too  much  a  laggard,  in  this  matter,  Melchior ;  it 
chafes  me  when  I  speak  it." 

"  Wherefore  this, — doth  he  avoid  connexion  with  the 
Hebrew]" 

«  No !" 

"Perhaps  he  will  not  hold  himself  bound  to  the 
pledge  which  thou  hast  made — " 

"  He  shall !"  was  the  stern  response  of  Pelayo,  inter- 


148  PELAYO. 

rupting  the  speech  of  Melchior, — "  he  shall !  It  is  not 
this  that  keeps  him  from  our  councils :  it  is  his  weak- 
ness, an  evil  weakness.  Thou  shalt  know  all  hereafter : 
to  other  business  now." 

"  'Tis  well, — even  as  thou  sayest,  Pelayo." 

Pelayo  then  spoke  : — 

"  I  have  done  much  since  the  last  night,  and  my 
captains  meet  with  me  to-morrow,  at  this  hour,  in  the 
Cave  of  Wamba.  Thou  shouldst  be  there." 

"  I  will." 

"  Who  wilt  thou  bring  else  ?"  demanded  Pelayo. 

"  But  two  :  a  brave  youth  of  Merida— a  strong  and 
fearless  spirit,  who  will  lead  a  chosen  band  of  Israelites 
to  the  battle,  and  with  a  heart  brave  as  any  in  thy 
service." 

"  A  Hebrew,  he  ?"  inquired  Pelayo. 

"Of  my  own  tribe.  I  know  him  well,  my  prince. 
Do  not  misdoubt  the  Hebrew  valour  always.  He  will 
fight  nobly/' 

"  Thou  shouldst  know,  Melchior.  Thy  valour,  like 
thy  judgment,  is  approved.  I  know  it.  What  other 
comes  with  thee  ?" 

"  But  this  old  man,  Adoniakim — a  father  of  the  He- 
brew. His  word  is  a  power  among  our  people  which 
shall  move  them  like  a  tempest." 

"  What  name  does  the  youth  bear  of  whose  valour 
thou  hast  spoken  ?" 

"  Abimelech." 

*'  Forget  not  that  he  comes.  My  soul  rejoices  in  the 
brave  spirit ;  and,  let  him  but  approve  himself,  Pelayo 
will  not  know  he  is  a  Hebrew.  I  will  leave  thee  now, 
since,  before  morning,  I  must  seek  the  Lord  Oppas." 

"  What  of  the  weapons  of  war,  Prince  Pelayo  ?" 

"  Convey  them  as  thou  canst,  in  secrecy,  to  the  Cave 
of  Wamba :  then  shall  we  distribute  them  to  the  chiefs 
who  meet  with  us.  But  be  not  rash, — move  them  not 
all  at  once,  but  in  small  number." 


PELAYO.  149 

Much  more  was  said,  between  the  parties,  needful  to 
the  preparations  and  purposes  of  the  conspiracy,  before 
Pelayo  left  the  conference.  When  he  did  so,  he  found 
the  boy  Lamech,  who  preceded  him  to  them  entrance, 
which  he  opened  for  the  departure  of  the  prince.  The 
hand  of  Pelayo  rested  gently  on  the  head  of  the  youth, 
as  he  spoke  to  him  thus  : 

«*  Thy  limbs  should  be  at  rest  now,  on  a  soft  couch, 
Lamech, — they  are  too  feeble  and  too  slender  to  sustain 
thee  in  a  watch  and  labours  like  to  these.  Thou  wilt 
grow  weary,  and  then  sickness  will  come  to  thee ;  for 
even  mine,  which  are  stronger  and  older,  might  not  bear 
with  such  toils,  but  that  a  sleepless  feeling  within  my 
heart  sustains  and  impels  them  thus." 

Pelayo  little  knew  how  strong  was  the  feeling  in  that 
boy's  heart  also,  which  sustained  and  strengthened  his 
otherwise  feeble  limbs. 

"  Go  now  to  thy  rest,  Lamech ;  and,  though  a  Jew, 
I  will  not  chide  if  thou  namest  Pelayo  in  thy  prayers  to 
the  Hebrew  God  whom  thou  servest.  The  prayers 
must  be  of  avail  from  a  young  and  faithful  heart  such  as 
thine." 

He  pressed  the  hand  of  the  maiden-page  as  he  bade 
her  good-night,  and  the  touch  went  like  so  much  spirit- 
fire  into  the  veins,  even  to  the  very  core,  of  her  young 
and  devoted  heart.  She  watched  from  the  door  along 
the  path  upon  which  he  had  gone,  and  her  eye  seemed 
endued  with  a  strength  beyond  humanity  to  see  him,  far, 
far  away  in  the  dim  street,  though  but  few  stars  shone 
out  from  the  heavens.  She  turned  away  and  closed  the 
door  when  she  could  no  longer  behold  him ;  and  then, 
for  the  first  time,  did  her  limbs  feel  weary  for  sleep. 
N2 


150  PELATO. 


XL 


"  WHEREFORE  hast  thou  lingered  from  thy  couch  so 
long,  Thyrza,  my  beloved  ?  Why  hast  thou  not  gone  to 
thy  slumbers  ?" 

"  Thou  didst  not  bid  me,  my  father ;  but  I  will  go 
now.  Thy  blessing,  father." 

And  she  sank  upon  her  knee  before  him  as  she  spoke ; 
and  fervently  and  fondly,  though  in  silence,  did  the  aged 
Hebrew  invoke  God's  blessing  on  his  child. 

"  And  thine,  Adoniakim,"  said  the  maiden. 

"  May  the  God  of  Israel  be  thy  God,  Thyrza, — may 
his  good  angels  watch  thee,  beloved  one  !"  was  the  kind 
prayer  of  Adoniakim,  and  the  maid  retired  with  no  other 
word  from  the  presence.  Her  absence  gave  an  oppor- 
tunity, as  her  appearance  had  furnished  an  occasion,  to 
Adoniakim,  which  the  good  old  man  earnestly  desired. 

"  Melchior,"  said  he,  "  thou  hast  a  blessed  and  a 
blessing  creature  in  that  child  of  thine." 

The  eyes  of  Melchior  were  full  of  tears,  and  he  re- 
plied in  no  other  language. 

"  Thou  mayst  well  love  her,  for  she  is  worthy  of  all 
love  in  herself;  and  to  thee,  Melchior,  she  must  bring 
ever  back  the  memory  of  a  time  when  life  was  a  thing 
of  love,  and  all  its  creatures,  and  all  its  objects  and  de- 
sires, were  sought  for  and  beloved.  How  like  is  she, 
even  in  my  eye,  to  her  gracious  mother." 

"Speak  not  of  this,  Adoniakim.  I  would  not,  my 
brother,  that  the  weakness  of  my  heart  should  be  beheld, 
even  by  thee." 

'*  It  is  the  strength,  and  not  the  weakness  of  the  heart, 
Melchior,  which  I  behold  in  these  tears  of  thine  eyes. 
Weep  on,  my  brother,  for  the  tears  that  flow  from  affec- 
tion are  sweet,  even  though  they  fall  only  upon  its  grave. 
They  hallow  love,  they  embalm  memory,  they  consecrate 


PELAYO.  151 

mortal  things,  and  make  them  eternal  as  thought,  and 
lovely  as  the  first  look  of  innocence.  They  are  blessed, 
my  brother,  and  sweetly  do  they  bless  the  heart  from 
whose  deep  and  silent  fountains  they  flow." 

"  Truly  hast  thou  spoken,  Adoniakim.  The  tears  of 
mine  eyes  are  grateful  to  my  heart.  Yet  I  would  not 
that  men  should  see  me  weep  ;  for  it  is  the  wont  always 
with  men  to  scorn  the  suffering  which  they  do  not  feel." 

"  I  have  spoken  to  thee  of  Thyrza,  my  brother,  as  of 
one  dear  to  thee  from  old  memories,  and  not  less  dear  to 
thee  from  her  own  loveliness  and  worth.  She  is  dear  to 
me  the  same,  and  it  has  been  my  thought  and  prayer, 
Melchior,  that  our  own  hearts  should  be  more  closely 
joined  together  in  the  pleasant  bonds  which  we  might 
behold  our  two  children  weave  around  the  hearts  of  one 
another.  Amri — " 

"  Say  not,  Adoniakim.  I  know  thy  thought  and  thy 
prayer,  but  speak  not  again  of  this." 

"  The  youth  is  erring,  but  not  vicious." 

"  I  pray  thee,  Adoniakim,  forbear.  What  is  it  to  us 
—we  who  are  toiling  for  Israel — for  our  people,  and  our 
people's  liberties — to  bend  ourselves  to  the  fruitless  em- 
ploy of  teaching  young  hearts  to  commune  in  love? 
Thy  son  is  dear  to  thee,  and  my  daughter  is  dear;  but 
what  to  us  should  be  their  mortal  happiness  at  a  season 
of  trial  and  storm  like  that  which  is  impending?  The 
bird  sings  not  a  love-ditty  when  the  tempest  clamours  in 
the  air,  but  sinks  secure  into  his  cover,  and  waits  the 
moment  of  repose." 

"  I  speak  not  of  the  present  season,  Melchior,  when 
I  speak  to  thee  of  these  hopes  upon  which  my  heart  has 
been  set.  There  will  come  a  time  when  the  storm  is 
ended — when  the  strife  is  over — when  the  danger  is 
gone  by  ; — there  will  come  the  time,  and  then,  my  broth- 
er, how  greatly  would  it  rejoice  my  spirit  to  behold  thy 
Thyrza  the  beloved  wife  of  Amri." 

"Never — never!"   was  the  energetic  response  of 


152  PELAYO. 

Melchior.  "  Amri  the  lord  of  Thyrza — the  master  of 
her  fate — the  dictator  of  her  movements — the  arbiter  of 
her  affections  and  her  hopes  ?  Never — never !  Speak 
to  me  no  more  of  this,  Adoniakim,  for  I  may  not  hear 
thee  with  patience.  God  crush  me  with  a  bolt  when  I 
give  my  child  up  to  a  tyranny  like  that  of  Amri !  She, 
the  dependant,  the  humble,  the  uncomplaining,  the  gen- 
tle— meek  as  the  night-dews — fond  like  her  blessed 
mother — giving  all  her  heart,  and  devoted  to  the?  death 
for  him  she  is  bound  to  : — shall  I  give  such  as  she  to 
Amri?  To  Amri,  the  impatient,  the  capricious,  the 
wanton  profligate — having  his  own  will  and  vicious  mood 
for  his  master,  and  owning  no  authority  besides !  I  tell 
thee,  Adoniakim,  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak  of  this. 
Thou  knowest  not  my  daughter,  or  thou  lovest  her  not ; 
and  still  less  dost  thou  know  thy  son,  however  thou  lovest 
him.  I  know  him  better  than  thou.  I  see  into  his  heart 
—I  trace  his  thoughts — and  I  tell  thee,  Adoniakim — in 
grief  but  in  truth  I  tell  thee — thy  tenderness  is  blindness, 
and  thy  misused  love  is  a  very  madness  of  the  heart, 
which  will  one  day  wither  it  as  with  fire.  Forgive  me, 
Adoniakim,  that  I  speak  thus  of  one  that  is  so  dear  to 
thee ;  but  I  may  not  speak  else.  He  honours  thee  not, 
Adoniakim,  and  his  days  in  the  land  will  be  short ;  and 
he  will  scatter  sorrow  and  evil,  like  a  pernicious  and  fast- 
growing  seed,  all  around  him.  Let  us  part  now,  for  we 
have  both  much  to  do  ere  the  gray  light  of  morning  shall 
cheer  us." 

The  language  of  Melchior  fell  chillingly  upon  the 
heart  of  Adoniakim.  He  had  been  wont  to  regard  the 
Hebrew  of  the  Desert  as  one  wise  beyond  men,  and  a 
reader  of  the  stars.  He  bowed  his  head  in  acquiescence, 
and  without  a  murmur,  to  the  words  of  his  companion, 
even  as  to  an  oracle  ;  but  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and 
there  was  a  heavy  sadness  upon  his  spirit  They  parted 
for  the  night,  and  the  gray  dawn  streamed  through  the 
casement  ere  Melchior  sought  his  couch. 


PELAYO.  153 


XII. 


THE  gloomy  Cave  of  Wamba  received  the  conspira- 
tors. A  hundred  armed  and  brave  knights  were  pres- 
ent. Melchior  came  also,  and  the  valiant  Hebrew,  Abim- 
elech.  There  also  came  the  venerable  Adoniakim,  who 
was  too  much  devoted  to  the  cause  of  his  people  to  heed 
the  fatigue  of  such  a  journey.  The  enthusiasm  of  his 
heart  gave  strength  to  his  limbs,  and  made  them  light  to 
bear  the  toil,  so  unusual  at  such  an  age  as  his,  which  he 
now  put  upon  them.  When  they  were  all  assembled, 
there  was  but  one  voice  in  the  assembly,  and  that  was 
addressed  to  Pelayo  in  a  tone  of  thunder. 

"  Where  is  the  Prince  Egiza  1 — where  is  thy  broth- 
er 1" 

Pelayo  looked  sternly  around  upon  the  assembly  in 
silence,  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  disdaining  their  inquiry. 
Then  he  spoke — 

"  My  lords  and  gentlemen, — noble  knights  and  men 
of  Spain, — if  Egiza  toils,  as  he  should, in  the  good  cause, 
which  is  thine  and  his  alike,  it  may  be  well  looked  for 
that  he  is  sometimes  absent  and  afar.  I  had  thought  to 
find  my  brother  here  with  the  Lord  Oppas.  That  he  is 
not,  and  this  business  so  much  his,  should  prove  him 
more  profitably  labouring  elsewhere." 

44  This  was  thy  speech  to  us  before,  Pelayo,"  replied 
Count  Aylor.  "  We  know  that  thou  hast  been  busy,  ay, 
without  sleeping,  prince,  and  so  have  others  of  our  band ; 
yet  thou  canst  come,  and  they  can  come,  when  our 
pledges  so  demand  it,  fearless  to  meet  with  those  pledg- 
ed along  with  us,  and  doubting,  as  they  well  may,  the 
brother  who  forbears  to  come.  Thy  brother  must  have 
wrought  nobly,  indeed,  to  excuse  him  for  this  slight  upon 
us." 

"  No  slight,  Count  Aylor — no  slight,  gentlemen,  as  I 

I 


154  PELAYO. 

trust  and  know.  The  soul  of  Egiza  goes  with  you," 
responded  Pelayo.  But  his  voice,  though  firm,  had  in 
it  a  something  of  self-reproach  and  sorrow,  which  did  not 
escape  the  senses  of  the  conspirators.  Much  did  he 
misgive  that  his  brother  had  forgotten  or  been  heedless 
of  his  duties. 

"  How  know  we  that  he  will  bind  himself  to  secure 
us  in  the  privileges  thou  hast  promised  us,  Pelayo  ]" 
was  the  farther  demand. 

"  He  shall  speak  for  himself,  my  friends.  I  pledge 
myself — I,  Pelayo — that  Egiza  meets  with  you  three 
nights  hence,  and  ratines  the  bond  which  I  have  made 
you,  or  yields  you  release  from  all  your  pledges." 

"  How  ! — think  you  that  he  will  forego  the  enterprise 
— that  he  will  turn  traitor  to  his  people,  and  leave  them 
to  the  tyranny  of  Roderick  ?  We  claim  no  release  from 
our  pledges,  Pelayo — we  are  resolved  to  die,  all,  sooner 
than  bear  the  iron  sway  of  this  Gothic  usurper." 

Thus  exclaimed  one  and  all  of  that  fierce  assembly. 
The  spirit  of  Pelayo  glowed  with  unquenchable  delight 
as  he  listened  to  this  language. 

"  Noble  gentlemen,  and  brave  knights  of  Spain,"  he 
cried  to  them,  in  a  voice  of  pride,  "  yours  is  the  true 
spirit,  which  is  to  secure  you  conquest.  Think  not, 
though  Egiza  prove  recreant,  that  Pelayo  falters  in  the 
enterprise.  His  soul  is  in  it ;  and,  if  Egiza  prove  false 
or  feeble,  Pelayo  is  yours, — he  will  lead  you  to  the 
usurper's  palace, — he  will  be  the  first  to  strike  for  your 
freedom  and  his  own." 

Loud  cheers  rang  through  the  vaulted  chamber,  and 
it  was  long  before  their  clamours  suffered  him  to  pro- 
ceed. When  the  applause  was  over,  he  thus  continued — 

"But  I  hope  for  better  things  from  Egiza.  He  is 
not,  he  cannot  be,  forgetful  of  his  trust.  He  will  lift  the 
SWOrd — he  will  lead  you  on — and,  as  your  crowned 
king,  will  give  you  the  privileges  and  the  liberty  which  I 
have  promised,  and  which  your  valour  so  well  deserves. 


PELAYO.  155 

You  shall  hear  this  from  his  lips :  you  shall  see  him  at 
our  next  assembling ;  when,  God  with  us,  we  shall  lift 
the  banner  of  Spain,  and  do  battle  with  the  usurper. 
Living  or  dead,  if  Pelayo  lives,  ye  shall  behold  Egiza 
then.  I  swear  it  on  the  blessed  sign." 

And  fervently,  as  he  spoke,  he  kissed  the  cross-han- 
dled weapon  at  his  side. 


XIII. 

ERE  the  dawn  of  the  ensuing  day  Pelayo  entered  the 
secret  door  leading  to  the  chamber  of  his  uncle.  The 
Lord  Oppas  was  even  then  awake,  and  busied  with  the 
toils  of  the  conspiracy.  Not  limited  was  the  share 
which  he  had  assigned  himself  in  the  enterprise.  He 
had  his  own  ambition,  and  it  was  reckless  beyond  belief, 
to  gratify  in  these  labours.  But  he  was  prudent  in  his 
measures ;  and,  so  cunningly  did  he  play  the  part  of 
the  rebel,  that  his  practices  were  hitherto  unsuspected  by 
the  most  watchful  emissaries  of  King  Roderick.  His 
thoughts,  ere  the  approach  of  Pelayo,  found  their  way  to 
his  lips  in  broken  and  almost  unconscious  soliloquy : 

41  This  boldness  wjiich  Pelayo  meditates,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "is  but  sheer  folly.  He  has  but  to  speak 
aloud,  and  show  himself  with  the  feeble  numbers  which 
we  now  command,  to  be  crushed  for  ever.  He  must 
not  be  suffered  to  risk  everything  of  our  cause — of  my 
cause — to  his  insane  valour.  And  yet,  unless  we  move 
Julian,  the  day  of  our  best  hope  is  distant.  He  is  strong 
— stronger  than  any  noble  in  the  realm  ;  and,  but  for 
this  strength,  had  surely  never  received  the  favour  of 
Roderick,  confirming  in  his  rule  the  command  of  Anda- 
lusia. He  can  move  the  natives  with  a  word  ;  and  but 
little  less  is  the  power  which  he  holds  among  the  Gothic 
nobles.  They  notefully  regard  his  word,  favour  his 
course,  hearken  his  direction,  nor  strive  to  assail  his 


156  PELAYO, 

power.  We  must  win  him  to  win  our  way.  The  crown, 
the  kingdom,  my  hope,  all  rest  upon  his  favour ;  and  to 
rise  in  arms  ere  we  have  won  him  to  our  purpose  were 
but  to  bring  down  all  his  power  upon  us,  and  defeat,  by  an 
idle  rashness,  not  the  present  plan  alone,  but  all  the  rich 
hopes  of  the  future.  Yet  how  to  move  him  now?  He 
hath  heard  my  proffers,  and  in  calm  thought  rejected 
them.  The  gold  which  had  tempted  any  Gothic  noble 
is  valueless  in  the  sight  of  Julian ;  and  for  the  power 
which  pleaded  with  his  ambition,  he  hath  all  from  Rod- 
erick which  he  could  ever  hope  to  gain  from  us.  His 
love  of  the  old  king  moves  him  not  to  revenge  his  mur- 
der, since  he  holds  the  election  of  Roderick  to  be  not 
less  legal  than  that  of  Witiza.  What  then — what  then  ? 
How  move  him,  when  these  things,  which  had  wrought 
madness  in  other  minds,  fall  fruitlessly  upon  his? 
Through  her — through  her — his  daughter.  Through 
her  alone — there  is  no  other  argument.  She  is  the  idol 
of  his  soul,  and  he  loves  the  ground  upon  which  she 
treads.  His  heart  is  wound  up  in  her  charms,  and  she 
restores  to  him  the  beauties  of  her  whom  he  had  else 
lost  for  ever.  He  will  dare  in  her  behalf  all  danger ; 
and  the  wrong  done  to  her  will  arouse  him  to  that  un- 
witting vengeance  and  wild  treason  to  which  no  tempta- 
tion may  win  him  now.  Through  her,  then — through 
the  devoted  love  which  he  bears  her,  I  have  a  power 
to  move  him.  He  shall  be  ours  ;  he  shall  be  mine  /" 

The  archbishop  paced  the  room  hastily  as,  with  in- 
creased emphasis,  he  uttered  these  words  and  came  to 
this  conclusion.  His  project,  but  half  conceived  in  his 
mind,  in  the  mean  time  underwent  closer  analysis.  He 
spoke  at  length,  though  in  a  more  subdued  tone,  as  if 
he  had  reached  a  desired  result. 

" 1  know  this  Roderick  well.  A  wild  profligate  ; 
passionate  and  voluptuous ;  reckless  of  right  or  reason 
when  his  blood  quickens — he  will  but  need  to  hear  of 
the  beauties  of  Cava  to  madden  for  their  enjoyment. 


PELAYO.  157 

He  shall  hear  of  them ;  and  the  choice  phrases  which 
teach  him  where  to  look  for  his  pleasure  will  not  fail  to 
heighten  their  excellence.  He  shall  become  wise  in  all 
her  charms,  and  his  daring  arm  will  rest  not  till  he  has 
them  in  his  power.  Let  him  but  gain  his  purpose,  and 
we  gain  ours,  and  I  gain  'mine.  He  will  rouse  the 
stern  old  father  to  vengeance,  and  secure  for  us  the 
succour  which  our  prayers  and  promises  have  alike 
failed  to  compass.  It  must  be  so.  'Tis  a  wild  design, 
without  fair  defence,  but  that  it  helps  to  the  right,  and 
thus  becomes  a  virtue.  Ha  !  who  comes  ?  Pelayo." 
"  The  same,  good  uncle,"  was  the  reply  of  the  youth, 
who  entered  the  room  at  this  moment.  A  red  spot  was 
upon  his  brow,  and  the  closely  compressed  lips,  and  the 
quick  and  fire-darting  eye  of  the  speaker,  betokened  a 
degree  of  anger  which  had  not  yet  appeared  in  his  lan- 
guage. 

"  Well,  my  son,"  said  the  archbishop. 
"  It  is  not  well,  mine  uncle,"  was  the  sudden  reply. 
"  It  goes  not  well.     Where's  Egiza  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  Is  he  not  with  you  ?" 
"  With  me !  The  red  curses  seize  him,"  passion- 
ately exclaimed  his  brother.  "  His  lukewarmness  will 
ruin  us,  as  it  already  dampens  the  spirits  of  our  men. 
A  hundred  good  knights  gathered  at  my  summons  at 
the  Cave  of  Wamba,  and  he  was  pledged  to  meet  them. 
They  were  true,  but  he  failed  them.  They  waited  long, 
and,  with  reason,  grew  impatient.  'Twere  cause  enough 
that  he  should  claim  their  duty  while  utterly  heedless  of 
his  own." 

"  They  were  not  angered,  I  trust,  Pelayo,"  said  the 
archbishop. 

"  Your  trust  is  profligate,  my  lord  bishop,"  replied  the 
youth,  quickly;  "they  were  angered,  and  rightly.  I 
have  soothed  them  as  I  could  with  such  lessons  as  I 
got  from  thee.  I  prated  to  them  of  patience  and  deliber- 
ation, of  reason  and  caution,  and  other  stuff  of  the  sort. 
VOL.  I — O 


158  PELAYO. 

By  my  faith,  if  they  think  as  little  of  the  counsel  as  does 
the  counsellor,  they  would  eat  up  their  own  swords 
through  vexation." 

"  And  where,  think  you,  my  son,  can  be  your  brother  1 
Sure — I  hope  not — no  harm  has  befallen  him." 

"  Thy  hope  is  late,  and,  like  thy  trust,  profligate. 
Harm  hath  come  to  him,  mine  uncle." 

"What  harm,  Pelayol"  demanded  the  archbishop, 
with  great  anxiety. 

"  He  is  in  fetters — in  bondage — in  villain  bondage," 
replied  the  other. 

"  In  bondage,  son  ?" 

"  Ay — a  witch  hath  fettered  him.  He  hath  eyes — 
amorous  eyes — and  he  loves  beauty.  He  is  in  a  wom- 
an's bondage — worst  bondage  of  all ;  since  the  soul 
slackens  in  its  purpose  and  sleeps  in  the  chain,  which,  if 
the  bonds  were  other,  the  strong  limb  would  rend  with  a 
bound.  The  tyrant's  bonds  were  but  flaxen  cords  to 
such  fetters  as  now  wrap  the  feeble  spirit  of  Egiza.  He 
can  no  longer  serve  us  with  resolution;  he  hath  no 
energy  to  serve  or  save  himself.  His  truth  is  forfeit ; 
his  pledged  faith  denied;  his  duty  to  his  country  left 
undone  ;  and  all  for  a  silly,  simpering,  painted  plaything, 
such  as  tickle  boys  with  amorous  fancies  to  their  ruin. 
But,  though  he  be  my  brother,  I  shall  slay  him,  even 
as  a  dog,  if  he  fulfil  not  his  pledges." 

"  Nay,  do  nothing  rashly,  Pelayo,"  said  the  archbishop. 
"  You  are  but  too  ready  to  strike,  and  your  promptness 
is  no  less  an  evil  than  is  the  lukewarmness  of  Egiza. 
But  where  do  you  conceive  him,  and  of  what  woman  do 
you  speak  ?" 

"  Julian's  daughter,  the  Lady  Cava.  He  is  in  her 
web — a  long-legged  butterfly  in  a  gray  spider's  house. 
Would  she  feast  on  him  now,  the  game  were  at  rest. 
'Tis  she  that  hath  dammed  up  the  proper  tides  of  man- 
hood in  him,  and  made  him  what  he  is — a  soulless 
murmurer  by  the  silly  brook  that  prattles  away  the  hours 


PELAYO.  159 

with  as  little  purpose  as  himself.  Well  I  saw,  what 
time  we  sought  her  father's  castle  for  his  succour,  that 
Egiza  grew  her  slave.  I  warned  him  then,  and  dreaded 
this  same  chance." 

"  What  would  you  do,  Pelayo  ?" 

"  What  I  have  sworn,  good  uncle.  I  am  pledged  to 
bring  him  to  our  council ;  living  or  dead,  Lord  Oppas,  I 
have  sworn  to  bring  him — and  I  will  do  it.  Living  or 
dead,  Egiza  shall  meet  our  friends  at  the  Cave  of  Wamba, 
as  he  has  promised  them,  and  as  I  have  sworn." 

"  When  seek  you  him  V9 

"  To-morrow." 

44  Should  you  find  him  at  the  castle  of  Julian  2" 

«  Well  ?" 

"  What  will  you  do  ?" 

"  What  should  I  do,  good  uncle,  but  make  all  effort 
for  his  liberty  ?  Try  to  break  his  bonds,  and  lead  him 
out  from  his  captivity.  Entreat  him  by  his  honour,  by 
our  father's  memory,  by  his  country's  sufferings,  to  re- 
turn to  his  duties — to  the  pledges  sworn  to  his  people — 
the  ghosts  of  Witiza  and  his  murdered  followers  being 
by  the  while." 

"  What  if  he  refuse  you  ?  Should  the  witcheries  of 
Cava  still  more  effectually  persuade  him  1  What  then  ?" 

"  What  then  should  I  do  but  stab  him  to  death,  and 
vindicate  our  name,  and  the  oath  which  I  have  taken 
before  our  men  V9  responded  the  fierce  warrior,  whose 
height,  already  majestic,  seemed  to  rise  still  higher,  and 
to  expand  in  majesty,  with  the  angry  answer  of  his  lips. 

44  That  were  too  rash,  too  bloody  a  deed,  my  son," 
rejoined  the  archbishop.  "  It  were  unholy,  and  most  hor- 
rible, that  in  any  cause  thy  hand  should  spill  the  blood 
of  thy  brother.  Wouldst  thou  have  the  curse  of  Cain 
upon  thee,  Pelayo  ?" 

44 1  slay  him  at  no  altar,"  replied  the  youth.  *4  It  is  to 
that  I  would  bring  him.  It  is  because  of  his  desertion 
from  the  altar  of  his  God  and  his  country  that  I  would  slay 
him." 


160  PELAYO. 

"'Twere  not  well — not  wise,  Pelayo,"  replied  the 
archbishop,  "  to  do  this  rash  and  cruel  act.  Hear  me, 
my  son ;  I  have  a  better  plan  of  counsel,  which  shall 
break  this  bondage  ;  nor  break  the  bondage  of  Egiza 
alone.  It  will  break  our  bonds  also,  if  it  succeeds  ;  it 
will  help  us  to  our  battle  with  the  usurper." 

"Thou'lt  pleasure  me  to  speak  it,  uncle,"  was  the 
more  temperate  reply  of  Pelayo.  "  I  would  not  wrong 
a  lock  of  Egiza's  hair  if  he  would  do  his  duty,  and  con- 
firm me  in  the  pledges  I  have  made  in  his  behalf." 

"  He  will  do  this,  be  sure,"  was  the  promise  of  Oppas. 
"  We  shall  help  him  to  break  these  bonds,  escape  from 
this  bondage  of  which  thou  hast  such  dread,  my  son, 
and,  by  the  same  art  with  which  we  achieve  his  rescue, 
compel  Julian  himself  to  choose  his  side  with  ours." 

"  I  grow  impatient,  uncle,"  said  Pelayo,  as  the  arch- 
bishop appeared  to  pause. 

"  You're  full  grown,  Pelayo,  and  if  we  measure  your 
manhood  by  your  impatience,  my  son,  'tis  long,  very 
long,  since  you  have  been  a  child.  But  hear  me  out. 
I  have  a  little  scheme." 

"  Another  V9 

"  Yes,  another.  But  hear  me.  The  father  of  this 
maiden,  whom  you  now  regard  as  your  brother's  mistress 
or  his  fate,  loves  her  to  so  earnest  a  degree,  that  she 
stands  in  his  thought  as  one  worthy  of  heaven's  own 
worship.  He  doth  little  less  than  worship  her  himself 
on  earth.  He  hath  kept  her  from  the  court,  as  he  feared 
its  license — " 

"  He  did  wisely,"  said  Pelayo,  interrupting  the  speaker, 
who  continued  thus,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  And  in  his  own  castle  retreats  he  hath  provided  her 
with  attendance  and  delights  which  amply  supply  the 
loss  of  such  pleasures  as  the  court  might  bring,  without 
its  infirmities.  In  this  devotion  of  the  father  to  his 
daughter,  my  scheme  hath  its  birth.  Upon  his  exceed- 
ing fondness  I  build  all  my  hope,  aa  well  of  Egiza's 


PELAYO.  161 

rescue  as  of  the  succour  to  our  cause  which  the  arms 
of  Count  Julian  can  ably  give  us." 

"  I  am  dull,  good  uncle." 

"  Thou  wilt  grow  wiser  ere  I  am  done.  Well,  then 
— thou  hast  seen  her  beauty — she  is  beautiful,  thou 
knowst." 

"  Ay,  she  hath  glances  that  warm,  and  she  walks  dain- 
tily. Wouldst  have  me  chronicle  and  number  them  in 
order  ?" 

"  No — enough  of  that.  She  is  beautiful ;  but,  as  her 
beauty  doth  not  work  upon  either  thee  or  me,  it  needs 
not  that  we  speak  farther  of  it  here.  But  should  this 
beauty  be  unveiled  to  Roderick — thou  knowst  his  lust- 
ful nature — dwelt  on  in  free  and  speaking  words  until 
his  fancy  becomes  fired  with  desire  for  its  enjoyment, 
then  shall  he  madden,  and  his  heart  grow  wanton  like 
thy  brother's." 

"Well?" 

"  With  a  bolder  spirit  than  Egiza  will  he  then  labour 
for  her  possession." 

"  What  of  this  F  responded  Pelayo,  coldly.  "  How 
will  it  help  our  cause,  or  rid  Egiza  of  his  bonds,  even 
should  the  lustful  tyrant  aim,  as  thou  sayst,  and  as  I 
doubt  not  he  will,  at  this  foul  measure  ?" 

"  Hear  me.  He  will  pursue  her  with  unholy  fires. 
He  will  contrive  means  to  elude  the  father ;  and,  when 
he  hath  achieved  his  purpose,  the  sword  of  Julian  will 
be  ours  for  revenge,  that  hath  been  heretofore  withheld. 
The  insolence  of  Roderick  will  provoke  his  anger  even 
to  fury,  and  the  personal  wrong  of  the  tyrant  will  prompt 
the  rebellion  which  his  usurpation  provoked  not.  Julian 
will  join  his  ten  thousand  soldiers  to  our  cause,  and — " 

"Ay — I  see  it  now,"  replied  Pelayo.  "And  you 
have  taught  all  this  to  Roderick  ?" 

Deceived  by  the  calm  and  subdued  manner  of  Pelayo, 
the  subtle  priest  did  not  scruple  to  proceed  in  the  devel- 
opment of  his  foul  project. 

O  2 


162  PELAYO. 

"  Not  yet,  my  son,"  he  replied ;  "  but  we  have  time 
enough  to  do  it.  In  a  secret  missive  which  I  shall  con- 
trive to  fall  into  his  hands,  or  into  those  of  his  minion 
Edeco,  I  will  arouse  him  to  this  knowledge  of  the  dam- 
sel. I  will  urge  him  on  by  a  warm  portrait  of  her 
charms,  and  counsel  him  how  best  to  succeed  in  their 
attainment.  This  done,  I  will,  with  no  less  diligence, 
send  tidings  of  his  disaster  to  her  father,  and  counsel 
how  best  to  revenge  the  wrong  of  the  tyrant  to  his  child. 
See'st  thou  not  how  this  works  for  us  1  The  appeal 
will  then  be  from  Julian  unto  us,  and  the  vengeance 
which  he  seeks  upon  Roderick  will  make  him  a  true 
soldier  to  our  cause." 

"  'Tis  a  hopeful  scheme,"  said  Pelayo,  his  eyes  rest- 
ing with  keen  gaze  upon  those  of  the  archbishop  ;  "'tis 
a  hopeful  scheme,  my  lord  ;  and  this  poor  maiden — this 
just  budding  child,  whose  bosom  hath  not  yet  well 
throbbed  with  its  own  virgin  consciousness,  who  is  just 
breathing  into  life — she  thou  hast  decreed  as  the  vic- 
tim, whose  sacrifice  is  to  give  us  the  justice  and  the 
victory  we  seek." 

"  'Tis  her  fate,  my  son,"  was  the  calm  reply  of  the 
archbishop,  who  was  still  deceived  by  the  unusually  sub- 
dued and  quiet  manner  of  the  prince.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment, and  the  indignant  burst  of  expression  which  fell 
from  the  lips  of  the  noble-minded  Pelayo,  soon  con- 
vinced the  archbishop  of  his  error,  and  taught  him  how 
greatly  he  had  mistaken  the  moral  sense  of  his  nephew. 

"  God  help  thee  to  a  heart,  my  Lord  Oppas.  God 
help  thee,  I  say,  to  that  which  thou  seemst  to  have  not 
— a  heart.  Thou  art  cursed,  and  wouldst  curse  others, 
with  its  lack ;  and  I  pray  Heaven  to  supply  thee  soon, 
ere  the  curse  grows  too  heavy  for  cure,  and  the  doom 
beyond  all  endurance.7' 

The  astounded  archbishop  could  only  reply — 

"  What  mean  you,  my  son  ?" 


PELAYO.  163 

Without  heeding  his  involuntary  inquiry,  the  prince 
proceeded  thus  in  the  same  strain  of  indignant  apostro- 
phe- 

"  Thou  hadst  a  mother  once — thou  shouldst  have 
had—" 

44  Dost  doubt,  Pelayo  ?  Beware  that  thou  sayst 
nothing  unjustly — she  was  thy  father's  mother,  my  son, 
no  less  than  mine." 

"  Ay,  ay  !  I  hear  thee ;  yet,  if  thou  hadst,  my  Lord 
Oppas,  and  if  she  were  not  dishonest  to  thy  father,  and 
sinful  ere  thy  birth,  her  curse  is  on  thee  for  thy  damnable 
thought  to  this  poor  maiden.  She  will  come  to  thee  at 
midnight  and  will  affright  thee,  not  less  with  her  presence 
than  with  the  hell  which  she  will  promise  thee  for  the  foul 
practice  which  thou  meditatest  against  a  weak  creature 
of  her  sex.  Thou  toilest  madly  for  such  doom,  my 
Lord  Oppas,  and  I  bid  thee,  churchman  as  thou  art,  be- 
ware of  it.  How  should  thy  cross  protect  thee  in  the 
perilous  moment,  when  thou  hast  not  suffered  its  pres- 
ence to  protect  the  frail  maiden  who  wears  it?  How 
should  thy  prayer  avail  thee  before  Heaven,  when  thou 
hast  taught  the  monster  the  hiding-place  of  his  victim, 
and  counselled  him  to  be  deaf  to  all  her  prayers  T  Thy 
thought  is  damnable,  my  Lord  Oppas,  and  I  pray  thee 
vex  not  my  ears  by  more  speech  upon  it." 

"  Thou  art  harsh  in  thine,  Pelayo,"  said  the  arch- 
bishop, half  stunned  by  the  vehemence  of  his  nephew. 
The  latter  instantly  continued  : 

"  I  could  be,  my  Lord  Oppas,  if  my  feeling,  and  not 
my  lips,  had  language.  Words  are  frigid  and  feeble  to 
the  indignation  in  my  soul.  No — thou  shouldst  know 
— thou,  whose  duty  it  is  that  virtue  and  not  vice  should 
have  spread  among  mankind — that  I  am  not  harsh  in 
my  present  speech ;  not  half  so  harsh  as  thy  cruel 
purpose  should  deserve.  Once  more,  then,  I  pray  that 
God  may  help  thee  to  a  heart.  Thou  needst  some 
better  teaching  than  thy  head  affords  thee.  Nothing  of 


164  PELAYd. 

this  scheme  of  thine  shall  my  hand  grapple.  Our  cause 
is  too  true  to  suffer  me  to  give  it  up  to  shame,  and  stain 
it,  through  hope  of  human  and  temporary  aid,  by  such 
polluted  purpose.  Rather  than  this,  let  the  crown  of 
Spain  settle  for  ever  upon  the  head  of  the  usurper ;  let 
Egiza  forget  his  name  and  his  duties ;  let  my  father's 
ghost — his  bloody  murder  unavenged — go  howling  to 
the  furies  ;  and  let  Pelayo  live  on  with  his  present 
sleepless  discontent  of  soul — impatient,  yet  hopeless — 
clamouring,  yet  achieving  nothing,  to  the  end.  I'll  none 
of  thy  scheme,  my  Lord  Oppas." 

The  young  prince  was  not  to  be  misunderstood. 
There  had  been  no  hesitancy  in  his  reply,  no  doubt,  no 
pause,  leaving  it  still  a  hope  with  the  archbishop  that  he 
might  be  won  by  plausible  argument  to  the  adoption  of 
the  foul  plan  which  the  latter  had  meditated.  The  di- 
frect  mind  despises  all  insinuation,  and  pierces  with  a 
single  glance  to  the  core  of  its  subject.  Had  Pelayo 
suffered  argument  from  the.  archbishop,  he  had  probably 
yielded.  It  was  now  left  for  the  latter  to  do  so. 

"  As  you  deem  wisest,  Pelayo.  It  is  for  Egiza  and 
yourself  to  resolve  upon  your  plans  of  action.  I  do  but 
counsel." 

"  Sad  counsel,  uncle,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  "  and 
fhou  wilt  be  wise  to  drive  its  recollection  from  thy 
thought,  as  I  would  fain  drive  it  for  ever  from  mine. 
Its  very  consideration  taints,  as  we  do  soil  ourselves 
even  when  we  spurn  the  vile,  and  trample  upon  the 
unworthy,  object.  Let  us  look  to  means  not  less  noble 
than  the  end  which  prompts  them.  It  may  be  that  we 
must  move  secretly.  That  I  love  not !  I  would  that 
we  could  move  boldly,  and  challenge  daylight  and  the 
eyes  of  men  for  our  actions  ;  but,  if  we  may  not,  secresy, 
though  it  may  help  the  work  of  crime  among  the  pliant 
and  the  weak,  is  not  crime  itself.  It  shall  be  my  care 
that  it  becomes  not  so  in  our  progress.  My  purpose 
still  remains.  To-morrow  will  I  seek  Egiza,  and  chide 


I 


PELAYO.  ] 65 

his  misdoings,  implore  him  to  his  duties,  obey  him  as 
truly  as .  a  subject  should,  if  he  will  keep  his  pledges 
and  share  the  perils  to  which  he  has  brought  our  friends  ; 
and  if  he  will  not — if  he  denies  me,  and  seeks  again  to 
make  me  his  creature  with  our  men — speaking  promises 
through  my  lips,  which  he  has  made  false  in  the  moment 
of  their  utterance,  as  he  has  done  already — if  he  does 
this,  I  say,  uncle  !  but  no  !  he  will  not — I  think  he  will 
not — he  dare  not — he  dare  not." 

"  But  should  he,  Pelayo  ?"  was  the  suggestion  of  the 
archbishop,  who,  knowing  the  temper  of  Pelayo,  spoke 
with  no  little  anxiety. 

"  I  have  said!"  was  the  prompt  reply.  *«  Then  will 
I  slay  him,  my  lord  bishop,  though  he  prayed  with  a 
tongue  which  proved  him  at  every  syllable  to  be  the 
firstborn  of  our  father.  I  will  slay  him  as  a  dog  that 
wears  a  badge  he  dares  not  fight  for." 

"  Be  not  so  rash,  Pelayo." 

"  I've  sworn  it — 'tis  an  oath  in  Heaven,  uncle,  and  I 
will  keep  it." 

"  A  rash  oath,  Pelayo." 

"  Rash  or  reasonable,  uncle,  I  care  not.  Living  or 
dead,  I  tell  thee,  he  goes  with  me  to  counsel  with  our 
men,  as  he  pledged  them  through  me,  and  as  I  have 
pledged  them  for  myself.  I  leave  thee  now,  uncle — 
yet,  a  word — a  prayer — before  I  go.  No  more  of  that 
dark  scheme,  that  foul  thought  touching  the  silly  maid- 
en. Set  not  the  foul  lust  of  Roderick  to  spoil  her  in- 
nocence. Rather  let  us  lose  all  that  we  love,  and  all 
that  we  would  live  for — my  brother's  strength,  his  hon- 
our, his  kingdom — than  do  aught  shall  make  these 
things  less  worthy  in  our  hearts.  Spare  the  poor  maid- 
en— God  forgive  thee  the  thought — the  thought,  no  less 
foolish  than  foul,  which  thou  didst  breathe  to  me,  I  trust, 
with  little  thought.  He  should  howl  in  fearfullest  doom 
that  toils  in  such  practice ;  and  little  good  can  ever  be- 
fall the  throne  built  up  upon  the  ruins  of  innocence." 


166  PELAYO. 

"  Whither  goest  thou  now  ?"  demanded  Oppas,  whose 
lips  shrank  from  all  speech  on  the  guilty  subject  of  his 
thoughts. 

"  To  seek  Suintilla,"  replied  Pelayo,  naming  one  of 
the  best  warriors  of  his  faction.  "  He,  with  other  no- 
bles, await  me  at  the  Gate  of  the  Tribune.  I  must 
meet  them  ere  the  falling  of  the  sun." 

"  Dost  thou  not  risk  much,  Pelayo,  by  such  meet- 
ing ?"  was  the  question  of  the  archbishop.  "  The  Gate 
of  the  Tribune  is  a  thoroughfare,  and  thou  art  known  to 
many  in  Cordova." 

"  I  risk  not  more  than  they  whom  I  am  pledged  to 
meet ;  I  must  not  shrink  to  keep  my  pledges  when  my 
brother  proves  himself  so  heedless  of  his.  Whatever  be 
the  risk,  I  cannot  heed  it.  I  must  teach  them  a  better 
thought  in  his  behalf  than  they  hold  of  him  now.  His 
late  default  hath  roused  them,  and  justly,  unto  anger. 
When  I  have  appeased  them,  I  will  seek  him.  I  will 
arouse  him  to  his  duties,  or  thrust  him  out  of  the  way, 
which  he  does  but  choke." 

"  It  must  be  as  thou  sayst,  my  son,  and  yet,  let  me 
pray  thee  to  be  patient." 

"  Ha !  the  old  strain,  uncle — I  wonder  thou  hast  kept 
from  it  so  long.  Thou  hast  taught  me  that  song  of  pa- 
tience until  I  have  it  in  memory,  if  not  by  heart.  I  con 
it  without  a  consciousness,  and  think  some  day  to  have 
it  sung.  Wouldst  thou  could  teach  it  to  Roderick, 
uncle ;  it  would  better  serve  us  if  he  should  practice 
it." 

Thus,  with  a  playful  scorn  of  the  favourite  counsel 
which  it  had  been  the  practice  of  the  archbishop  to  be- 
stow upon  the  youths,  Pelayo  took  his  departure,  leav- 
ing him  to  meditate  upon  the  interview — a  task  which 
yielded  him  but  little  real  satisfaction. 

"  I  will  teach  him  a  better  song,  Pelayo,  spite  of  thy 
silly  scruples,"  were  the  muttered  words  of  the  arch- 
bishop after  the  departure  of  the  youth ;  "  I  will  not 


PELAYO.  167 

bind  myself  to  the  silence  thou  wouldst  impose,  when  so 
much  may  be  secured  for  our  cause  by  a  breath.  I  will 
speed  the  letter  to  Roderick :  he  shall  know  wherefore 
Julian  keeps  from  the  court.  He  shall  hear  of  the  love- 
liness of  Cava.  I  will  set  his  lustful  soul  on  fire  by  the 
praises  of  her  beauty,  and  nothing  question  of  the  coil 
which  is  to  follow ;  a  happy  coil  for  us,  since  it  must 
break  the  ranks  of  the  usurper,  and  force  Julian  into 
ours." 

Thus  saying,  Oppas  retired  to  a  secret  chamber  to 
prepare  the  cruel  scheme  which  his  dark  policy  and  vi- 
cious soul  had  engendered  for  the  destruction  of  the 
innocent  and  unconscious  maiden  who  had  enslaved  the 
young  Prince  Egiza.  Pelayo,  on  the  contrary,  with  a 
better  purpose,  though  with  the  same  great  end  in  view, 
— the  overthrow  of  the  usurper  Roderick — proceeded  to 
seek  the  conspirators,  many  of  whom  were  chafed  at  the 
seeming  indifference  manifested  by  the  elder  of  the  two 
princes.  Throughout  the  day,  and  not  unsuccessfully, 
did  he  toil  with  this  object.  He  soothed,  entreated, 
argued,  and  reassured,  by  turns,  the  doubtful,  the  sus- 
picious, and  the  timid.  To  one  he  painted  the  triumphs 
of  successful  strife,  to  another  the  security  which  would 
follow  in  the  elevation  of  a  just  monarch  to  the  throne. 
Some  he  stimulated  by  the  love  of  glory,  others  by  the 
thirst  for  gain.  To  each  he  brought  an  argument  of 
strength,  and,  with  all  his  earnestness,  spoke  for  his  sin- 
cerity while  securing  theirs.  It  was  only  when  the  ex- 
haustion of  his  frame  rendered  it  scarcely  possible  for 
him  to  labour  longer  and  to  live,  that  he  retired  to  an 
obscure  dwelling,  which  he  had  chosen  for  his  temporary 
abiding-place  in  the  city's  suburbs,  to  snatch  from  care 
and  exercise  a  few  brief  hours  of  refreshing  slumber. 


168  PELAYO. 


XIV. 

LET  us  now  return  to  Amri,  the  son  of  Adoniakim. 
We  have  seen  his  anxiety  to  remain  in  the  dwelling  of 
Melchior,  accompanied  only  by  Thyrza,  during  the  con- 
ference of  her  father  with  his.  As  yet,  she  was  only 
supposed  to  be  known  to  him  as  a  boy.  But  Melchi- 
or's  suspicions  had  been  much  aroused  by  the  pertina- 
city of  the  youth,  and  hence,  in  part,  his  inflexible  oppo- 
sition to  his  wish  of  remaining.  Hurried  away  from 
the  place  of  retreat  to  which  the  aged  man  had  retired 
under  the  hot  pursuit  urged  by  his  enemies,  Amri  had 
sought  the  dwelling  of  his  father  with  a  mind  breathing 
nothing  but  vengeance  upon  Melchior,  yet  full  of  a  wild 
passion  for  his  daughter.  Accustomed  to  the  full  in- 
dulgence of  his  desires,  he  could  ill  bear  restraint  or 
opposition ;  and.  the  necessity  of  concealing  so  much 
while  in  Melchior's  presence,  and  of  subduing  for  the 
present  a  temper  so  irascible  and  so  little  subject  to 
control,  aroused  him,  when  alone,  to  a  degree  of  excite- 
ment and  irritation  little  short  of  absolute  fury.  He  re- 
solved upon  the  possession  of  Thyrza,  and  meditated, 
if  he  did  not  resolve,  upon  the  sacrifice  of  her  father. 
The  sympathies  of  kindred  alone  restrained  the  activity 
of  his  thoughts  and  feelings  in  reference  to  the  latter 
subject ;  but  these  sympathies  grew  fewer  and  weaker  in 
due  proportion  to  the  increase  of  that  lust  for  the  maid- 
en, which  he  felt  persuaded  he  could  not  so  readily  sat- 
isfy while  the  father  lived.  To  this  matter  he  gave  all 
his  thoughts,  so  far  as  one  might  do  so  who  was  the 
creature  of  changing  impulses,  and  who  seldom  referred 
to  a  deliberative  reason  the  regulation  of  a  most  impe- 
rious will. 

Before  he  came  to  any  conclusion  on  this  matter,  he 
felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  see  the  Gothic  noble,  whose 


PELAYO.  169 

successless  pursuit  of  the  night  he  felt  sure  must  great- 
ly annoy  and  irritate  him.  It  was  necessary  that  he 
should  seek  him  out  soon  and  account  for  his  failure. 
This  was  no  difficult  task  to  one  so  habitually  cunning, 
and  so  versed  in  all  the  arts  of  deception,  as  Amri.  He 
knew  the  fierce  but  obtuse  nature  of  the  Goth,  and  as 
he  had  done  frequently  before,  he  did  not  despair  of  be- 
ing able  again  readily  to  deceive  him.  Taking  due 
care  to  carry  with  him  a  well-filled  purse  which  his 
father  had  previously  given  him,  and  which  he  well 
knew  would  satisfy,  for  the  time,  the  rapacity  of  one 
even  more  avaricious  and  vicious  than  Edacer,  he  hurri- 
ed away  to  the  dwelling  of  the  latter,  preparing,  as  he 
proceeded,  the  fabrication  which  was  to  account  for  the 
failure  of  his  purposes. 


XV. 

THE  fierce  noble  gave  him  but  little  time  to  deliber- 
ate after  his  arrival.  His  lodgings  were  in  confusion. 
The  half-drunken  soldiers  whom  he  had  employed 
were  yet  clamorous  around  him  for  their  promised 
pay,  which  he  could  not  so  easily  provide ;  when  the 
presence  of  Amri,  if  it  did  not  at  once  relieve  him  from 
this  difficulty,  furnished  him,  at  least,  with  a  victim  upon 
whom  to  vent  his  indignation. 

"  Dog  of  a  Jew !"  he  cried,  as  the  youth  appeared 
before  him ;  "  dog  of  a  Jew,  am  I  thy  sport — thy 
plaything  1  Dost  thou  think  to  serve  me  at  thy  pleas- 
ure— to  lead  me  into  the  haunts  of  thy  accursed  tribe  on 
a  profitless  quest  for  that  which  it  holds  not  ?  Speak ! 
ere  I  bid  the  spears  of  these  men  search  thy  bosom  for 
their  prey.  They  shall  have  it  freely  an  they  find  it 
there !" 

He  grappled  the  throat  of  the  Jew  with  a  grasp  of 
iron  as  he  spoke  these  words.  But  Amri  was  nothing 

VOL.  I.— P 


170  PELAYO. 

dismayed.     He  well  knew  where  the  power  lay  to  man- 
age his  superior. 

"  My  lord — "     He  began  to  speak  when  Edacer  in- 
terrupted him. 

"  Hast  thou  money  ?     I  ask  not  for  thy  words  yet ! 
Thy  gold — the  men  must  be  paid.     I  have  none." 
"  I  have  but  little,  my  lord,  and — " 
"  Give  it,  and  think  not  long,  whatever  thou  dost;  for 
it  is  easier  with  these  spears  to  search  to  thy  very  heart 
for  thy  wealth,  than  to  wait  for  thy  slow  hands  to  pluck 
it  forth  from  thy  vestments !" 
"  It  is  here  ;  thou  hast  ail." 

The  Jew  gave  forth  his  purse  freely,  since  he  well 
knew  that  it  was  idle  to  oppose  a  demand  made  in  a 
form  so  unequivocal.  But  he  had  previously  abducted 
from  the  purse  a  goodly  portion  of  the  precious  pieces, 
which  he  had  elsewhere  hidden  about  him.  With  these 
the  Goth  paid  his  retainers,  whom  he  at  Once  dismissed 
from  his  presence,  but  he  bade  them  keep  at  hand  in 
the  event  of  other  employment.  When  they  had  gone 
he  again  addressed  Amri  in  the  wonted  language  of  ex- 
tortion. 

"  Thou  seest !  All  that  I  got  from  thee  have  I  given 
among  them.  Not  a  piece  remains." 

"  Truly  thou  hast  paid  them  freely,  my  lord,  seeing 
that  they  have  done  thee  but  little  service,"  responded 
Amri. 

"  And  have  I  let  thee  to  my  company,  Jew, — and 
held  thee  fit  for  my  friends,  in  their  moments  of  mirth 
and  freedom,  to  be  requited  after  this  fashion.  Shalt 
thou  pay  nothing  for  this  privilege  ?" 

"  I)o  I  not  pay  ?  Have  I  not  paid,  even  now,  my 
lord?" 

"  Hast  thou  not  seen  ?  Have  I  thy  moneys  ?  Thou 
hast  paid  but  the  base  agents  of  thy  own  scheme,  which 
yet  has  failed  us.  For  that  thou  shalt  answer.  Where- 
fore is  it  so  ?  Wherefore  hast  thou  led  me  into  the 


PELAYO.  171 

vile  quarter  where  thy  tribe  harbours — amid  its  sinks 
and  filthy  corners — in  an  idle  search  after  that  which  it 
holds  not?  Am  I  thy  thing  of  sport? — the  instrument 
from  which  thy  base  fingers  shall  bring  forth  whatever 
sound  shall  offer  to  thy  mood  ?  Answer  me !  for  I 
meditate  for  thee  a  shrewd  penalty  unless  thou  showest 
me  wherefore  thou  hast  done  this." 

"I  told  thee  truth,  my  lord." 

"  Thou  liest ! — I  sought  the  Quarter  of  the  Jew — I 
sought  the  dwelling  of  Namur  of  the  Porch.  I  search- 
ed it  narrowly,  both  high  and  low.  Melchior  was  not 
there — nor  had  he  been, — else  how  should  he  have 
escaped?" 

"  He  was  there,  my  lord.  He  had  been.  It  was 
thy  own  fault  and  my  misfortune  that  thou  foundest  him 
not.  He  heard  of  thy  approach." 

"'Traitor !     By  thee—" 

The  Jew  started.  The  reply  of  the  Goth,  uttered  at 
random,  and  without  a  purpose,  save  that  of  anger  on  his 
part,  had  touched  truly.  But  he  recovered  himself  in- 
stantly, and  replied — 

"  No  !  by  the  creatures  thou  didst  have  with  thee." 

"  What  creatures,  Jew  ?" 

"  The  drunken  Lord  Astigia !"  was  the  bold  reply. 
"  He  it  was  that  defeated  thy  pursuit.  He  it  was, — 
and  those  with  him, — that  forced  Melchior  to  escape. 
What !  shall  the  hunter  clamour  aloud  to  warn  the  game 
he  seeks  ?  Shall  he  who  seeks  the  conspirator,  in  his 
place  of  watch  and  hiding,  bid  the  trumpets  bray  to 
make  his  corning  known  ?  Yet  such  was  the  clamour 
of  Astigia,  as  he  came  upon  the  Hebrew  Quarter." 

"  How  knowest  thou  ? — wast  thou  nigh  ?"  demanded 
the  Goth. 

"  Not  I.  But  from  one  who  saw  it  all  I  heard  it 
truly.  The  Lord  Astigia  grew  drunken,  and  then  furi- 
ous, and  fought  with  thee.  This  was  the  story  brought 
me." 


•• 


172  PELAYO. 

"  He  did — 'tis  true,"  was  the  reply. 

"  He  clamoured  much,  and  all  the  quarter  was  arous- 
ed to  hear  his  bowlings,  and  the  clash  of  swords  in  fierce 
strife  even  came  to  my  ears  that  were  distant.  But  I 
thought  not  that  it  came  from  thee.  I  thought  not  that 
thou  wouldst  go  on  a  quest  so  secret  and  so  full  of  trial 
with  a  besotted  train  who  must  defeat  thee." 

"  Thou  art  right,  Jew ;  though  thy  speech  does  not 
beseem  thy  lips  to  speak,  nor  my  ears  to  hear — thou  art 
right  nevertheless.  Astigia  did  as  thou  sayest,  though  I 
thought  not  that  his  clamour  had  reached  the  Jewish 
Quarter.  Indeed,  I  think  not  so  now.  How  know- 
est  it  ?" 

"  Thinkest  thou  a  hunted  man,  like  Melchior  of  the 
Desert,  will  adventure  himself  among  his  enemies  keep- 
ing no  watch  ?  His  friends  are  all  about  him,  and  they 
heed  the  public  ways.  The  quick  ears  that  heard  the 
clamour  ere  thou  reachedst  the  quarter,  had  ready  feet 
that  soon  bore  their  intelligence." 

"  'Tis  like,"  said  the  Goth. 

"  'Tis  certain,"  boldly  pursued  the  Hebrew  ;  "  'tis 
certain.  Had  he  not  been  so  warned  thou  hadst  en- 
trapped him,  even  in  the  dwelling  of  Namur." 

"  We  must  do  it  yet.  The  prize  is  great.  Thou 
must  search  out  his  hiding-place  again,  Amri, — we  must 
share  the  treasure." 

"  Shall  I  ?"  responded  the  Hebrew,  assuming  an  ex- 
pression of  sullenness  as  he  spoke  ;  "  shall  I  pursue 
again — find  where  the  game  sleeps,  to  have  the  hunter 
lose  him  ?" 

"  It  shall  not  be  again,  Amri,"  replied  the  Goth,  in 
gentler  language. 

The  Hebrew  continued  in  the  same  strain. 

"  Then,  if  it  fail  through  the  mischance  of  others, 
shall  I  have  the  lifted  spear  to  my  breast,  and  a  fierce 
threat,  and  a  foul  oath  of  scorn  in  my  ears,  until  I  give 
money  ?  Such  is  the  share  of  Amri." 


PELAYO.  173 

"  It  shall  not  hap  again,"  said  the  other,  soothingly  : 
Tor  without  the  aid  of  the  Hebrew  he  felt  that  he  coulc 
lo  tiothing.  "  Thou  hast  had  wrong,  Amri, — thou  shall 
have  justice.  Seek  out  the  man  again — find  where  he 
lies,  then  come  to  me.  The  reward  will  then  be  ours, 
and  then  thou  shalt  have  a  goodly  part  of  it." 

The  Hebrew  promised,  and  was  about  to  go,  but 
Edacer  detained  him. 

"T!  '  purse  was  but  scantily  filled.  I  must  have 
more.  Thou  hast  it — thou  must  give  it !" 

"  Thou  wilt  take  r.11  I  have,"  gloomily  answered  the 
youth. 

"  What !  dost  tV-^  murmur?  Have  I  not  made  thee 
free  with  the  I  .My  Urraca?—  ]  >es  she  not  love  thee, 
and  let  thee  to  h*^  affections  V 

"  For  money  !  She  hath  an  affection  for  gold,  my 
lord,  like  all  thy  nobles." 

«  Well— >     ,t  of  that  ?     Thou  hast  her." 

"  'Tis  true,"  said  the  Hebrew,  giving  up  his  money, 
even  to  the  last  piece,  to  the  unglutted  noble. 

"  'Tis  true,"  he  muttered  to  himself  on  leaving  him, 
"I  have  Urraca — a  Gothic  dame,  not  too  noble  to  sell 
herself  to  the  Jew  she  despises  for  the  gold  he  brings. 
I  have  her — but  I  hate  her.  I  have  been  her  slave — I 
will  be  so  no  longer.  The  loveliness  of  Thyrza  has 
freed  me  from  that  bondage.  I  loathe  the  very  thought 
of  Urraca  when  I  think  of  the  loveliness  of  the  child  of 
Melchior." 

And  he  hurried  away,  as  he  mused  thus,  with  more 
rapidity  to  the  dwelling  of  his  father.  His  aim  was  now 
once  more  to  gain  access  to  the  abode  and  presence  of 
the  damsel. 

P2 


174  PELAYO. 


XVI.  * 

WHEN  he  reached  the  dwelling  of  Adoniakim,  he  was 
told  by  the  porter,  who  was  in  his  pay,  that  Melchior  was 
even  at  that  moment  in  the  private  apartment  of  his  fa- 
ther. The  design  of  his  mind  was  strengthened  by  this 
intelligence.  His  decision  was  immediate  ;  and  he  was 
only  too  ready  to  put  his  plan  in  execution  to  scruple  at 
the  impropriety  or  the  difficulties  which  were  yet  before 
him. 

"  Bring  me  another  garment — a  disguise,  which  shall 
conceal  me  quite,"  he  said,  to  a  favourite  attendant.  In 
a  few  moments  he  had  altered  his  whole  appearance. 
He  then  sallied  forth  without  seeking  his  father  or  Mel- 
chior, or  suffering  them  to  know  that  he  was  at  hand. 
His  thought  was  full  only  of  the  image  of  the  lovely 
Thyrza.  The  warm  fancy  had  superseded  every  thing 
in  his  mind,  unless  it  breathed  of  her. 

"  She  is  in  the  dwelling  of  Barzelius.  'Twas  thence 
my  father  came  at  morning.  He  thought  to  have  de- 
ceived me — the  old  fool !  He  little  knows  how  close  a 
watch  I  keep  on  all  his  movements." 

He  hurried  on  through  the  deepest  haunts  of  the  He- 
brew Quarter,  till  he  came  near  the  dwelling  of  Barzelius. 
He  then  paused,  and  arranged  his  farther  progress  in  his 
mind  before  proceeding  upon  it.  He  anticipated  some 
difficulty  in  entering  the  dwelling  in  which  Melchior  had 
taken  up  his  retreat,  but  trusted  to  his  own  ingenuity  to 
carry  him  through  successfully.  Nor  did  he  rely  too 
much  upon  himself.  He  succeeded,  after  some  effort, 
in  procuring  admission,  and  his  way  now  lay  through 
certain  intricate  chambers  of  the  dwelling ;  though  he 
was  bewildered,  and  knew  not  in  what  direction  to  turn 
in  order  to  find  the  apartment  of  her  he  sought.  While 
he  paused,  the  sound  of  a  sweet  voice,  linking  itself 


PELAYO.  175 

naturally  with  the  rich  tones  of  the  harp,  came  suddenly 
upon  his  senses,  sweet,  soft,  and  delicious,  as  an  evening 
zephyr  floating  through  the  precious  gardens  of  Yemen, 
bringing  music  to  their  flowers,  and  taking  in  return 
their  tribute  of  perfume.  The  strain  ravished  his  senses, 
and  he  lingered  on  the  spot  where  he  first  heard  it,  even 
to  its  conclusion.  The  words  were  sweet  to  his  ears, 
though  the  sense  seemed  singular  and  foreign — because 
he  knew  not  yet  of  the^  native  hopelessness  of  the  true 
love,  and  he  could  conceive  of  no  reason  why  Thyrza 
should  repine  and  doubt.  The  song  was  evidently 
hers — who  else,  that  he  knew,  could  make  so  sweet  a 
harmony  1 

THYRZA'S  SONG. 
I. 

If  thou  wert  in  the  desert,  oh,  my  heart, 
Watching  its  stars,  and  watching  them  alone, 

Thou  wert  far  happier  than  even  now  thou  art, 
Watching  but  one ! 

II. 

What  though  it  be  the  loveliest  to  thine  eye, 

The  desert  yields  to  thee  a  better  sign, 
Since,  of  its  millions  shining  in  the  sky, 

One  must  be  thine  ! 

III. 

Yet  'tis  not  less  thy  ioy  and  happiness, 

Hopeless,  to  watch  that  single  glory  on, 
Without  one  cloud  to  make  its  lustre  less — 

Till  life  be  gone  ! 

IV. 

Let  the  life  go— be  the  poor  heart  denied, 

An  humble,  hopleess  worshipper  afar — 
'Tis  still  a  joy  that  love  has  deified 

So  pure  a  star ! 


176  PELAYO. 


XVII. 

t     i 

THE  air  seemed  to  be  channed  at  the  close  of  the 
song,  and  the  feet  of  Amri  were  fastened  where  he 
stood.  Was  it  fancy  that  made  him  think  that  a  breath- 
ing sound  in  the  air  around  him  was  the  renewed  respi- 
ration of  spirit  forms,  that  had  heretofore  been  listening  ? 
His  own  breathing  was  still  suppressed.  But  he  heard 
a  movement  below,  and  he  went  forward.  The  song 
had  guided  him  in  the  direction  he  should  take.  He 
reached  a  little  gallery  that  overlooked  a  small  but  richly- 
decorated  apartment.  He  gazed  wistfully  down  upon 
it.  Thyrza  knelt — her  arm  clasping  the  harp,  while  her 
head  was  bent  down,  and  resting  upon  the  golden  image 
which  crowned  the  instrument.  One  hand  hung  at  her 
side,  while  her  long  black  hair,  which  had  become  un- 
fastened, now  fell  loosely,  and  mingled  in  lovely  contrast 
with  the  bright  strings,  which  it  equalled  in  length.  She 
looked  up  as  she  heard  him,  and  he  saw  that  the  dark 
eyes  of  the  maiden  glistened  with  their  tears.  But  the 
sentiment  of  her  face  was  so  holy — so  subdued — so  like 
that  of  one  crowned  with  the  joys  and  filled  with  the 
spirit  of  heaven,  that  the  intruder  was  awed  while  he 
surveyed  her.  She  knew  him  not  in  his  disguise,  and 
for  the  first  time,  for  many  years,  he  beheld  her  in  her 
woman  vestments. 

"  Who  art  thou  ? — what  wouldst  thou  ?"  she  demand- 
ed hurriedly,  as  she  beheld  him. 

"  What !  thou  knowest  me  not,  Thyrza?"  he  exclaim- 
ed, forgetting  his  disguise. 

"  How  should  I  know  thee?"  she  replied.  "  Tell  me 
thy  name,  stranger,  for  I  remember  not  to  have  seen 
thee  before." 

He  leaped  boldly  down  into  the  chamber,  and  threw 
aside  the  garment  which  disguised  him. 


PELAYO.  177 

«*  Amri !"  she  exclaimed,  with  astonishment,  as  she 
looked  upon  him. 

"  The  same,  sweet  Thyrza — the  same.,  Amri,  the 
son  of  Adoniakim — thy  father's  friend,  and  thine." 

"  Does  my  father  know  of  thy  coming  here,  Amri  ?" 
she  demanded. 

"  He  does  not,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  wherefore  hast  thou  come  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Wherefore  not  ?"  he  replied.  "  I  came  to  see  thee 
— to  hear  tliee — to  look  upon  thy  loveliness — to  know 
thee  well — and,  if  thou  wilt,  sweetest  Thyrza,  to  love 
thee." 

"  Leave  me,  Amri,"  was  the  calm  response  of  the 
maiden.  "  Leave  me !  Thou  hast  done  wrong  in 
coming  hither  without  the  presence  or  the  permission  of 
Melchior.  I  fear  me  that  he  will  chide." 

*'  The  fault  is  mine,  dear  Thyrza — he  cannot  complain 
of  thee." 

"  I  should  be  guilty  of  thy  fault  too,  Amri,  if  I  did 
not  urge  thee  to  depart,"  replied  the  maiden,  with  some 
show  of  annoyance  in  her  manner,  but  still  with  a  de- 
gree of  calmness  and  decision  which  altogether  surprised 
the  intruder. 

"  Nay,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  but  seen  thee,  beautiful 
Thyrza — I  would  know  thee — I  would  have  thee  know 
me." 

"  I  do  know  thee,  Amri,"  was  the  quiet  answer — and 
she  seemed  unconscious  of  the  sarcasm  of  her  speech, 
though  Amri  was  not. 

"  Thou  dost  not — thou  canst  not  know  me,  Thyrza. 
Thou  hast  heard  of  me  from  those  only  who  know  me 
not,  or  speak  falsely  of  their  knowledge.  Thou  shalt 
know  me  better.  I  would  have  thee  know  me,  Thyrza, 
as  I  know  thee." 

She  looked  at  him  with  inquiring  eyes,  but  spoke  noth- 
ing. He  continued — 

"  I  know  thee  to  love  thee,  Thyrza — I  would  have 


178  PELAYO. 

thee  know  me  until  thou  hast  learned  to  love  me  in  re- 
turn." 

"  Love  thee  I"  she  exclaimed,  sadly,  and  her  eyes, 
still  tearful,  looked  upward,  as  if  seeking  the  glance  of 
that  one  single  star,  for  worship,  of  which  her  song  had 
spoken. 

"  Yes,  love  me,  Thyrza — canst  thou  not,  dearest 
Thyrza  ?  Believe  me  when  I  tell  thee  that  I  love  thee 
much." 

"  Speak  not  thus,  Amri,  I  pray  thee.  Leave  me  now. 
My  father  will  chide  that  thou  art  here." 

"  Wilt  thou  not  answer  me,  Thyrza  ?  Speak  to  my 
prayer.  I  came  to  thee  for  this.  Thou  hast  won  my 
heart  till  it  hath  no  self-mastery,  and  it  comes  to  thee 
in  devotion,  and  it  seeks  for  thee  in  hope.  Tell  me, 
then,  dearest  Thyrza,  that  thou  boldest  me  not  in 
scorn." 

"I  do  not  hold  thee  in  scorn,  Amri,"  said  the  maiden, 
meekly. 

"  Tell  me,  then,  that  thou  wilt  love  me — that  thou  wilt 
strive  to  love  me ; — that  I  may  hope  for  thy  heart  in 
season." 

'*  I  cannot — I  dare  not,  Amri.  I  should  speak  falsely 
to  thee  if  I  did  so." 

"  Now,  out  upon  thy  cruelty,"  exclaimed  the  passion- 
ate youth;  "thou  hast  but  seen  me,  yet  thou  tellest  me 
thou  canst  not  love." 

"Be  not  angry  with  me,  Amri," "said  the  maiden, 
gently ;  "  be  not  angry  with  me,  I  pray  thee,  that  I,  tell 
thee  so.  But  it  is  truth — I  cannot  give  thee  such  hope 
as  thou  desirest." 

"  Thou  lovest  another,"  he  furiously  spoke. 

She  did  not  reply ;  but  her  lip  quivered,  and  the  tear 
rose,  like  a  brilliant  jewel,  upon  her  long  lashes.  He 
repeated  the  words.  She*  raised  her  head  and  looked 
steadfastly  upon  him  ere  she  replied.  When  she  did  so, 
he  remarked  that  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  no  longer 


PELAYO.  179 

tremulous,  and  he  thought  that  they  were  now  rather 
stern  than  sad. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  leave  me,  Amri,  when  I  pray  thee  ?" 

"  And  why  dost  thou  pray  me  to  leave  thee,  wheu 
I  have  but  a  moment  come  ?  Dost  thou  hate  me, 
Thyrza?" 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  hate  ;  I  hate  thee  not." 

"  Thou  wilt  love  me,  then  ? — thou  wilt  strive  to  love 
me?" 

**  Leave  me,  Amri." 

"  Not  till  thou  hast  promised." 

"  Thou  dost  wrong, — and  my  father  will  chide  when 
he  cometh*" 

She  spoke  so  gently  that  her  manner  deceived  the 
youth,  whose  eyes  had  seldom  seen  resolution  expressed 
except  when  associated  with  stern  words  and  every  show 
of  violence. 

"  I  will  leave  thee  if  thou  sayest  it ;  but  first,  dear- 
est Thyrza— " 

He  paused  in  his  speech  and  approached  her.  She 
retreated  a  pace. 

"  Fly  me  not,  lovely  Thyrza ;  but,  as  a  sign  that  thou 
wilt  strive  to  love  me, — as  a  promise  which  shall  give 
me  to  hope,  let  my  lips — " 

"  Away- — touch  me  not,  Amri,"  and  her  eye  kindled, 
and  her  hand  was  uplifted  as  he  advanced. 

"  But  one  embrace — one  kiss,  sweet  Thyrza." 

"  Leave  me,  sir,  I  command  you." 

But  Amri  was  not  accustomed  to  be  controlled  or 
commanded  when  no  power  stronger  than  that  of  a  gen- 
tle woman  stood  in  opposition  to  his  will.  Blunt  in  his 
own  sensibilities,  and  with  appetites  that  defeated  his 
finer  feelings,  he  regarded  her  objections  as  those  only 
of  form  and  artifice.  He  continued  to  advance,  there- 
fore, and  she  to  retreat,  until  farther  retreat  was  im- 
possible. She  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  apartment, 
and  bade  him  desist.  He  heeded  her  not,  and  his  arms 


180  PELATO. 

were  stretched  forth  to  embrace  her,  when  her  own  arm 
was  uplifted.  He  started  back  when  he  beheld,  glitter- 
ing in  her  hand,  the  poniard  which  she  always  wore. 

"  Go  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  leave  me — thou  hast  done 
wrong,  and  I  will  tell  my  father  all  of  thy  intrusion  when 
he  returns.  Thou  wilt  do  well  not  to  see  him,  for  he  is 
quick  to  strike  when  there  is  a  wrong  purposed  to  his 
child.  I  would  not  that  he  should  harm  thee,  Amri,  and 
I  pray  thee  to  keep  from  his  presence." 

The  base  soul  of  the  youth  cowered  before  the  ma- 
jestic person  of  the  maiden.  Her  eye  was  fixed  upon 
him  hi  the  unmoved  calmness  of  a  conscious  and  fear- 
less superiority.  She  kept  her  position,  and,  with  the 
point  of  the  lifted  dagger,  she  indicated  the  entrance  to 
the  chamber.  Ashamed  and  shrinking,  he  obeyed  its 
direction  and  left  the  apartment.  The  maiden  remained 
alone.  When  he  had  gone  she  fastened  the  door  care- 
fully, and  restored  the  poniard  to  the  sheath  at  her  side. 
But  it  was  long  before  her  limbs  resumed  their  firmness, 
though  they  trembled  not,  in  the  slightest  degree,  while 
Amri  stood  before  her.  When  Melchior  returned,  she 
communicated  to  him  the  particulars  of  the  interview 
which  she  had  had  with  the  intruder,  though  she  dwelt 
not  harshly  upon  the  more  unfavourable  features  of  his 
behaviour.  Melchior  heard  her  with  grief  and  annoy- 
ance, but  he  approved  of  her  conduct.  , 

"  Thou  art  like  thy  mother,  my  child, — thou  art 
sweet  and  true.  Thou  hast  done  rightly — thou  art  not 
in  fault.  But  this  boy*— unhappy  Adoniakim !  what  a 
curse  thou  hast  made  of  a  blessing  sent  thee  from  God. 
Much  I  fear  me  this  boy  will  work  thee  the  bitterest 
sorrow.  We  must  strive,  my  Thyrza,  mat  we  are  not 
made  to  partake  of  it." 

"  Shall  I  bring  thee  wine,  my  father  ? — thy  cheek  is 
pale  with  thy  toils  of  the  morning — " 

"  A  cup,  my  child,  and  then  get  thee  to  thy  harp.  I 
would  forget — I  would  remember.  Give  me  an  old 


PELAYO.  181 

memory — a  lay  of  the  desert — that,  in  looking  back, 
I  may  not  see  the  gloom  and  the  trial  which  are  before 
me." 

"  The  Hymn  to  the  Departed,  dear  father,— shall  I 
sing  thee  that  ?" 

"  It  is  solemn, — it  is  sweet, — it  looks  to  the  past  and 
to  the  future, — it  may  well  hide  the  present  from  my 
sight  Sing,  Thyrza,  as  thou  sayest" 

THE  HYMN  TO  THE  DEPARTED. 


Oh !  ever  thus,  in  earnest  prayer, 

My  spirit  claims  and  clings  to  thine, 
And  longs  to  fly  and  seek  thee,  where 

All  things,  for  ever  blessed,  shine, 

All  being — not  less  than  thee — divine  ; 
And,  in  the  silent  hours,  I  pray 

The  Huma's  sweeping  wing  were  mine, 
That  I  might  soar  and  be  away. 

.      II- 

And  in  that  high  and  bright  abode, 

Where,  in  eternal  anthems  dressed, 
The  prayers  of  millions  seek  their  God, 

For  ever  blessing,  ever  blessed, — 

I  know  thy  song  above  the  rest; 
The  purest  strain  of  music,  where 

Eternal  gladness  is  the  guest, 
And  love's  own  spirit  speaks  in  prayer. 

III. 

The  heavy  earth  is  on  my  wing, 

And  human  fears  and  pains  are  mine  ; 
Panting,  I  seek  the  gushing  spring, 

Its  waters  teem,  and  taste  of  brine. 

Oh  !  for  one  genial  draught  from  thine — 
Thy  quiet  home,  those  blessed  airs, 

Enough  for  love,  nor  less  divine, 
Though  full  of  dreams,  that  move  our  tears. 

How  holy  were  both  hearts  when  Thyrza  had  finished 

this  hymn !     How  upward-looking  their  eyes  !     How 

upward-lifted  their   souls !       Though   the   thought    of 

Melchior  was  of  war — yet  it  was  a  war  for  the  people 

VOL.  I.— Q 


182  PELAYO. 

and  the  God  of  his  love  ;  arid  if,  in  the  heart  of  Thyrza, 
a  more  earthly  flame  and  feeling  had  a  home,  it  was 
sublimed  by  a  sweet  unselfishness,  which  would  not 
have  been  unwilling,  if,  like  the  daughter  of  Jephthah,  the 
God  of  her  worship  or  the  father  of  her  love  had  requi- 
red it,  to  offer  herself  up  in  sacrifice  for  the  cause  nnA  **. 
the  requisition  of  either. 


XVIIL 

BUT  Amri  was  not  to  be  baffled.  He  had  set  his 
thought  upon  the  possession  of  Thyrza ;  and,  with  that 
persevering  fixedness  of  purpose  which,  in  a  good  pur- 
suit, would  command  circumstances  and  achieve  great- 
ness, he  concentrated  all  the  forces  of  his  mind  upon  the 
attainment  of  an  evil  object.  He  saw  all  the  difficul- 
ties before  him  at  a  glance,  and  he  felt  that  his  entire 
prospect  of  success  must  lie  in  his  perpetual  watch  over 
the  movements  of  Melchior.  Without  a  knowledge  of 
these  movements,  he  could  hope  for  none  of  the  oppor- 
tunities which  he  desired  with  the  daughter.  He  mused 
his  plan  aloud  in  his  chamber. 

"Melchior  will  change  his  abode  after  this.  By 
night  he  will  be  gone.  His  steps  must  be  regarded 
closely.  What  then  ?  Shall  I  deliver  him  yet  to  Eda- 
cer  ?  Why  should  I  keep  terms  with  him  ?  True,  he 
is  of  my  tribe,  but  he  regards  me  not  as  one  of  it.  He 
doubts  my  faith, — he  distrusts  my  honour, — there  need 
be  no  terms  between  us." 

An  agent,  whom  he  had  called,  now  entered  the 
apartment.  Mahlon  was  a  creature  in  his  pay,  and 
partially  in  his  confidence. 

"  Mahlon,  hast  thou  prepared  thyself  as  I  bade  thee?" 
was  the  question  of  Amri. 

"  The  habit  is  ready,  Amri ;  and  I  can  now  conceal 


PELAYO.  183 

myself  within  it  so  that  Adoniakim  himself  could  not 
distinguish  me,  even  if  I  stood  before  him." 

"  It  is  well.  Go  then,  as  I  bade  thee,  and  watch  the 
dwelling  of  Barzelius  in  front.  Barzai  keeps  watch 
upon  the  inner  court.  Watch  closely  when  Melchior 
comes  forth,  and  the  page — do  not  fail  to  note  if  the 
page  goes  with  him ; — follow  them  so  that  they  escape 
not  an  instant  from  thine  eyes,  then  come  to  me,  to  the 
dwelling  of  the  Lord  Edacer,  and  report  to  me  the 
truth.  Away !" 

The  spy  departed,  and  the  youth  resumed  his  mu- 
sings aloud. 

**  I  owe  him  no  love — nothing  but  hate  ;  and,  though 
of  my  own  tribe,  wherefore  should  I  be  held  by  that  to 
keep  from  destruction  one  who  hates  and  distrusts  me  ? 
He  shall  perish !  Melchior  shall  perish  for  his  scorn  of 
me !" 

He  paused,  and  strode  his  chamber  as  if  in  troub- 
led thought.  He  spoke  again  after  a  slight  interval. 

"Yet  his  sacrifice  brings  me  no  step  nearer  to  her, 
unless  by  taking  from  her  one  protector.  That  is  noth- 
ing, unless,  in  the  same  moment  which  gives  him  to  the 
soldiers  of  Edacer,  I  can  secure  her  person.  I  must 
think  on  that.  There  would  be  no  hope  to  win  her  by 
persuasion,  if  she  dreamed  that  I  had  part  in  the  sacri- 
fice of  her  father.  I  must  keep  her  from  that  knowl- 
edge— from  that  thought." 

This  latter  suggestion,  as  it  exhibited  a  new  form  of 
difficulty  in  his  progress,  produced  a  farther  pause  in  his 
speech,  which  he  gave  up  to  meditation.  The  result  of 
his  deliberation  was  soon  shown  in  his  uttered  musings. 
He  resolved  that  Melchior  should  not  yet  be  given  up 
to  the  fierce  Edacer.  It  would  be  time  enough,  he 
thought,  for  his  sacrifice,  which  he  yet  resolved  upon, 
when  he  should  either  have  entirely  succeeded  with 
Thyrza,  or  when  he  had  discovered  that  success  with 
her,  during  her  father's  life,  would  be  hopeless.  His 


184  PELAYO. 

plans  were  soon  fixed  and  finished  in  his  mind  ;  and, 
towards  evening,  he  proceeded  to  the  lodgings  of  the 
dissolute  Edacer. 


XIX. 

MEANWHILE,  as  Amri  predicted,  Melchior  had  re- 
solved on  changing  his  habitation.  Such  were  the  toils 
and  trials,  the  dangers  and  necessities,  to  which  the  per- 
secuted have  been  ever  subject. 

"We  must  leave  this  place,"  said  the  old  man  to 
his  daughter,  as  the  declining  sunset  warned  him  of 
the  approaching  season  of  shelter  and  cover  to  the 
hunted  man.  "  We  must  now  to  the  last  place  of  re- 
treat secure  to  us  in  this  weary  city — the  house  of  thy 
kinsman  Samuel.  Thither  with  the  sunset  will  I  go, 
while  thou  shalt  seek  for  me  the  young  Prince  Pelayo.'* 

"  Where  seek  him,  father  1  Thou  knowest  that  he 
hast  left  the — " 

"  Yes ;  but  thou  wilt  seek  him  at  the  Gate  of  the 
Tribune — thou  knowest  the  place  1" 

"  I  do,  my  father." 

"  Bear  him  this  packet,  then.  Let  no  one  behold 
thee  give  it  him.  It  were  dangerous.  But  watch  thy 
time  to  call  upon  his  ear.  There  will  be  some  who  are 
to  meet  him  there  ;  let  them  not  see  thee  look  on  them. 
Pass  them  by  as  if  thou  didst  not  heed  them — as  if  thou 
sawest  them  not.  When  they  have  left  the  prince,  then 
make  the  sign — he  will  come  to  thee.  Give  him  the 
packet  then,  and  heed  well  the  words  that  he  shall  say  to 
thee.  They  will  have  meaning.  Forget  not  aught, 
my  child,  that  his  lip  tells  thee." 

"  Fear  me  not,  father, — I  will  heed  closely, — I  will 
forget  nothing." 

Well  and  securely  might  she  give  such  an  assurance. 
The  smallest  accents  from  Pelayo's  lips, — the  slightest 


PELAYO.  185 

movement  of  his  form, — the  most  passing  glance  of  his 
eye, — or  the  most  transient  play  of  expression  upon  his 
noble  countenance,  once  perceptible  to  her,  became  from 
that  moment  a  strong  memory  in  her  mind,  and  an  im- 
bedded and  growing  feeling  in  her  soul.  The  warning 
of  Melchior  for  her  observance  was  indeed  idle. 


XX. 

AMRI  proceeded  to  the  dwelling  of  Edacer  according 
to  previous  appointment.  It  was  now  almost  night,  and 
Edacer  had  gone  forth  from  his  lodgings.  A  slave  di- 
rected Amri  where  to  find  him,  having  a  command  from 
his  master  to  that  effect.  Edacer  had  gone  to  visit  the 
Lady  Urraca ; — a  lady  of  evil  repute,  and  of  whom  we 
have  already  spoken.  Amri  was,  or  rather  had  been, 
attached  to  her,  and  even  now  there  was  some  show  of 
regard  between  them.  Of  this  we  shall  see  more.  She 
was  a  lady  of  the  Gothic  stock :  and,  though  vicious, 
such  was  the  degraded  character  of  the  Jew,  that  it  had 
been  a  condescension  with  her  to  smile  upon  Amri,  and 
a  favour  bestowed  by  Edacer  to  procure  him  her  knowl- 
edge. The  gold  of  Adoniakim  procured  indulgences 
for  the  Jewish  youth  from  the  prostitute  of  a  race  which 
considered  him,  even  while  bestowing  upon  him  the  ut- 
most favours  of  a  seeming  affection,  degraded  even  be- 
low humanity,  and  sometimes  treated  him  accordingly. 

Amri  received  the  message  with  some  chagrin. 

"  Now  would  I  not  see  her !"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self ;  "  I  hate  her  now  as  once — Psha !  she  loves  me 
not, — it  is  but  a  stale  fetch,— the  trick  of  the  trade ; — 
love,  indeed !  To  think  of  love  with  her, — to  think  I 
should  once  have  been  so  foolish — so  blinded — so  be- 
sotted— as  to  fall  into  her  bonds, — and  such  accursed 
bonds.  But  I  must  meet  her, — I  must  seem  to  meet 
her  joyfully,  too,  as  if  I  did  not  hate,  and  fear  her,  and 
despise." 

Q2 


186  PELAYO. 

He  left  the  dwelling  of  Edacer,  and  moved  onward  to 
that  of  Urraca ;  but  his  thoughts  were  bitter  in  the  ex- 
treme as  he  proceeded. 

"  Now  will  they  clamour  for  the  Jew's  money, — the 
eternal  cry !  And  I  must  bear  abuse  and  every  scorn 
meekly,  as  if  I  found  some  pleasure  in  it.  Would  I 
were  free  of  her.  I  fear  her  now.  She  doth  suspect 
my  coldness.  She  has  doubts.  I  must  seem  fond,  for 
she  is  passionate.  She  would  not  scruple  at  my  blood, 
if  she  but  thought  that  I  strayed  from  her." 

Soliloquizing  thus,  he  entered  the  dwelling  of  the  Lady 
Urraca.  A  richly-decorated  chamber  received  him,  at 
the  farthest  end  of  which  a  pile  of  cushions  sustained  the 
majestic  and  symmetrical  person  of  this  princely  dame. 
She  wore  her  most  imposing  look  and  expression  of 
loveliness.  Her  whole  figure  was  one  to  fix  the"  eye — 
splendidly  formed,  yet  exquisitely  and  nicely  elaborated. 
Her  skin  was  darker  than  that  of  the  Gothic  damsels 
usually,  and  a  bright  Moorish  teint  might  almost  have 
persuaded  the  spectator  to  conceive  her  a  daughter  of 
that  nation.  Her  eye  was  black,  and  suited  to  her  com- 
plexion, while  her  hair,  streaming  in  rich  volumes  of  flow- 
ing silk  down  her  neck  and  shoulders,  was  raven-like 
and  glossy.  Her  glance  was  bright  and  piercing,  like 
that  of  a  young  eagle  for  the  first  time  challenging  the 
sun  ;  and.  at  the  first  view,  none  might  seem  to  be  more 
innocent,  as  certainly  none  could  have  been  more  beau- 
tiful, than  the  Lady  Urraca.  A  second  look,  however, 
would  better  advise  the  observer.  Quick  passions,  sud- 
den moods,  impetuous  emotions,  irresistible  impulses, 
were  momently  shown  to  be  in  her  heart,  by  the  chan- 
ging colour  on  her  cheeks,  by  the  violent  and  rapid  rush 
of  blood  through  her  veins,  by  the  flickering  and  uncer- 
tain expression  of  her  keen  and  restless  eyes.  Her 
brow,  too,  was  full  of  action,  and  therefore  of  speech. 
It  had  a  power  of  contraction  which  threw  together  a 
series  of  muscular  folds  just  between  the  eyes,  when- 


PELAYO.  187 

ever  she  became  excited,  which  formed  a  complete  cloud 
above  them,  while  they  darted  forth  perpetual  lightning 
from  below.  This  cloud  was  partially  formed  upon  her 
brow  as  the  young  Hebrew  came  into  .her  presence.  She 
motioned  him  with  her  finger,  and  he  approached.  Eda- 
cer  sat  upon  a  low  cushion  by  her  side.  To  Amri  she 
assigned  one  at  her  feet.  When  he  had  seated  himself, 
without  addressing  him  with  any  word,  the  dame  turned 
to  Edacer  and  thus  spoke  : 

"  My  lord  Edacer^  think  you  that  I  am  less  beautiful 
to-night  than  I  was  last  night,  or  the  night  before — or 
the  past  nights  for  a  goodly  and  long  year  ?  Speak,  I 
pray  thee, — have  I  grown  ugly  in  this  time  ?" 

"  Truly,  Urraca,  I  were  a  false  lord  to  think  so. 
Thou  hast  lost  no  beauties,  but  hast  rather  acquired 
many.  I  see  thee  not,  but  to  see  in  thee  each  day  some 
newer  loveliness — some  better  sweetness — some  dearer 
and  more  exquisite  charm." 

"  Mine  eyes  are  yet  bright,  my  lips  sweet,  my  person 
has  lost  nothing,  dost  thou  say  V9 

"  Nothing ! — to  me,  if  thou  hast  changed  in  any  wise, 
it  has  been  a  better  change,  if  it  be  that  one  so  lovely 
as  thyself  may  change  to  lovelier  and  yet  continue  mor- 
tal." 

"  And  there  is  no  other  beauty  to  vie  and  mate  with 
mine,  newly  come  into  the  city  1" 

"  None — none  !"  was  the  still  flattering  answer. 

"  Then  wherefore  is  it,  I  ask  thee,  that  Amri  seeks 
me  not  of  late  ?  He  has  beheld  the  change  which  has 
escaped  thine  eyes,  Lord  Edacer — he  has  noted  the  ab- 
sence of  some  charm  which  won  him  once — or  else  he 
hath  seen  the  newly-arrived  beauty,  which  thy  glances 
have  not  yet  distinguished."  And,  as  the  vain  lady 
spoke,  with  a  mixed  expression  of  pride  and  vexation, 
she  fixed  her  keen  eyes  upon  the  changing  features  of 
Amri.  The  Hebrew  started ;  he  trembled  for  his  secret, 
but  a  second  glance  at  Urraca  reassured  him.  He  saw 


188  PELAYO. 

from  the  fickle  gaze  that  her  charge  was  vague  and  con- 
jectural, and  simply  spoke  for  the  natural  jealousy  of  the 
woman,  having  no  aim  but  for  the  devotion  of  her  crea- 
tures, and  apprehensive  at  all  times  of  new  and  rival  influ- 
ences. Recovering  himself,  therefore,  from  the  moment- 
ary confusion  which  his  own  consciousness  rather  than 
her  charge  of  falsehood  had  induced,  he  replied  promptly, 
and  with  as  much  show  of  earnestness  and  passion  as 
he  could  well  assume  under  the  emergency, 

"  Thou  dost  me  wrong,  Lady  Urraca — thou  dost  thine 
own  beauty  and  surpassing  excellence  no  less  a  wrong, 
when  thou  sayest  I  have  not  willed  to  seek  thee  of  late. 
I  have  suffered  that  I  have  seen  thee  not.  Thou  canst 
not  know  the  pain  I  have  felt  when  away  from  thee." 

"And  wherefore  didst  thou  keep  away?  Do  I  not 
know  that  thou  hadst  no  occasion  V1 

"Ay,  lady,  but  I  had  !  The  Lord  Edacer  will  do  me 
justice,  and  tell  thee  that  we  had  a  serious  task  together, 
which  kept  me  from  thee." 

Edacer,  thus  appealed  to,  leaned  over  to  where  Amri 
sat,  and  whispered  him, 

"  Hast  thou  brought  the  jewels — the  gold  ?" 

Amri  whispered  him  in  return, 

"  Thou  wilt  find  the  gold  in  the  silk  mantle  which  is 
behind  thee." 

"  What  say  ye  to  each  other  ?"  demanded  Urraca,  im- 
patiently. 

"  We  spoke  of  that  same  business,  Urraca,  which  hath 
kept  Amri  from  thy  presence ;"  and,  while  he  spoke,  the 
mercenary  Edacer  assured  himself  that  the  mantle  and 
gold  were  behind  him. 

"  Thou  answerest  for  him,  then  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  do — I  know  what  cares  have  kept  him  from  thee. 
He  hath  spoken  but  the  truth,  Urraca,  and  thou  must 
forgive  him." 

"And  for  my  forgiveness,  fair  Lady  Urraca,  I  pray 
thee  to  wear  this ;"  and,  as  he  spoke,  Amri  arose,  and 


PELAYO.  189 

drawing  from  his  vest  a  glittering  ornament  of  precious 
gems,  making  a  rich  tiara,  was  about  to  place  it  upon 
her  head,  when,  suddenly  grasping  his  arm,  she  tore  the 
jewels  from  his  hand,  and  dashed  them  upon  the  floor. 

"  It  buys  no  forgiveness  from  me,  Amri !  Thou 
knowest  me  not, — neither  thou  nor  the  Lord  Edacer. 
Leave  me,  my  lord,  I  pray  thee,  for  a  while.  I  would 
be  alone  with  Amri.  Leave  me  with  him.  I  have  that 
to  say  which  is  for  his  ears  only.  Go  to  the  other  cham- 
ber till  I  call." 

In  silence  and  astonishment  the  Gothic  noble  with- 
drew, leaving  the  no  less  astounded  Hebrew  with  the 
now  deeply-excited  woman.  But  he  preserved  his  com- 
posure, and  prepared  himself,  as  well  as  he  might,  for  the 
anticipated  outbreak. 


XXI. 

RISING  quickly  from  her  cushions  after  the  departure 
of  Edacer,  she  carefully  fastened  the  door  behind  him. 
She  then  turned,  and  slowly  approached  her  companion. 
He  had  risen,  meanwhile,  from  the  stool  on  which  he 
had  first  been  seated,  and  now  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
apartment,  awaiting  her  speech.  She  approached — she 
stood  before  him.  Her  eye  was  fixed  upon  him  as  if  it 
would  look  him  through,  and  the  heavy  muscular  folds 
of  her  brow  lay,  one  upon  another,  like  piled  clouds  full 
of  storm  and  thunder.  Her  finger  was  uplifted  as  she 
addressed  him  in  low,  half-suppressed  tones. 

"  Thou  art  false  to  me,  Amri !" 

He  was  about  to  speak,  but  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Speak  not !  I  know  it — thou  art  false  to  me — thou 
canst  not  deceive  me.  I  see  through  thee.  I  know  thy 
heart." 

"  It  is  thine,  Urraca." 

"  Thou  liest !     I  am  no  longer  sought  of  thee — thou 


190  PELAYO. 

carest  for  me  no  longer — thou  art  indifferent  to  me  now, 
and  thy  indifference  is  worse  far  than  thy  hate !  Thou 
hast  deceived  me — thou,  only,  hast  deceived  me.  I 
have  trusted  thee  only." 

"  Thy  words  have  a  dread  meaning  in  my  ears,  Ur- 
raca,  and  they  do  me  a  sad  injustice  !  Tell  me  by  what 
thou  judgest  50  unkindly  of  thine  own  Amri.", 

She  looked  on  him  with  scornful  countenance  as  she 
replied — 

"  Thou  seekest  me  not  now, — thine  eye  no  longer 
dwells  upon  me  in  fondness — and  thou  heedest  not  now 
that  Edacer  should  be  with  me  for  long  hours  alone. 
Why  is  this  now  ?  Once  it  was  not  so*  There  was  a 
time  when  thou  wouldst  chafe  and  madden,  Amri,  to  find 
another  with  me  in  secret." 

"  It  pains  me  now,  dear  Urraca." 

"  Dear  me  not,  Amri — for  again  thou  liest!  Hear  me. 
Once,  when  I  did  rebuke  thee,  thou  cam'st  to  me 
with  fond  words  and  devoted  looks — thou  wert  then  all 
fondness — all  devotion, — thy  very  heart  seemed  flowing 
like  some  full  stream  into  my  own,  and  thine  eyes — they 
took  their  light,  their  very  life,  from  mine !  -  For  this  I 
loved  thee,  Amri.  What  else?  WTas't  for  thy  gold, 
thy  jewels,  that  I  let  thee — a  J^ew — one  of  a  people 
whom  my  own  hold  accursed — was  it  for  these  that  I  let 
thee  to  my  love  ?  —  I,  the  proud,  the  beautiful,  the 
sought  Urraca — the  sought  of  nobles  and  of  princes ! 
Did  thy  gold  tempt  me  to  this  kindness  to  thee  ?  No  ! 
'Twas  that  I  thought  thou  lovedst  me — 'twas  with  that 
lie  in  thy  mouth  thou  earnest  to  me, — 'twas  for  thy  love, 
Amri — not  for  thy  gold  and  gifts.  Gold  and  gifts  I  had 
from  mine  own  people  in  profusion — they  bought  my 
smiles  with  them — not  my  heart.  I  gave  thee  that, — 
not  for  such  gifts  as  theirs,  Amri,  but  for  that  which 
none  of  them  could  give  me — for  thy  love !" 

"  Thou  hadst  it,  sweet  Urraca." 

**  Hadst  it,  dost  thou  say  1     Hadst  it !"     Her  whole 


PELAYO.  191 

frame  was  in  convulsion,  and  she  darted  towards 
him. 

"  And  hast  it  still,  Urraca,"  he  replied  quickly,  shrink- 
ing back  at  her  approach. 

"  That  I  believe  not.  Thou  canst  not  now  deceive 
me.  Thou  art  false — ay,  false  as  hell,  Amri !" 

«  Wherefore  thinkest  thou  so  ?"  he  asked.  "  Who 
hath  belied  me  to  thee  ?" 

"  No  one.  Thou  thyself  hast  told  me.  Hear  me," 
she  continued,  impetuously  ;  "  when  we  met  first,  if 
then  I  chided  thee  for  coldness  or  neglect,  thou  didst 
persuade  me  to  believe  thee  then,  with  fond  words — with 
constant  devotion — with  unwearied  efforts  to  behold  and 
seek  me — " 

"  Do  I  not  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No !  thou  dost  not.  Break  not  my  speech  till  I 
have  said  it  all.  It  is  soon  said.  Now,  when  I  chide 
thee  for  thy  absence  or  indifference,  thou  strivest  to  bribe 
me  with  a  pauper-boon.  Thou  bringest  me  gold  and 
jewels.  Need  I  these  ?  Is  not  my  state  most  rich  ? 
Have  I  not  wealth  and  splendour?  What  are  these 
chambers  1 — are  they  beggarly  ? — seem  they  not  well 
provided?  Thou  givest  me  what  I  lack  not — what  I 
ask  not — what  I  require  not  from  thee.  I  would  have 
thy  love,  which  thou  deniest  me." 

Her  whole  features  seemed  now  to  be  convulsed — 
her  breast  heaved  with  passion — and  Amri,  who  had  all 
the  time  preserved  his  composure,  perceived  that  the  mo- 
ment of  exhaustion  was  at  hand,  and  that  tears  must  re- 
lieve the  excited  bosom  of  the  voluptuous  woman.  He 
led  her  unresistingly  once  more  to  the  cushions  where 
she  had  lain,  and  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"Thou  dost  wrong  me,  Urraca — dear  Urraca, — I 
take  from  thee  no  love, — thou  hast  it  all." 

"  I  should  have  it,  Amri,  but  I  believe  not  thy  words." 
She  turned  from  him  and  gazed  upon  the  wall — her  par- 
oxysm seemed  almost  subdued. 


192  PELAYO. 

"  Thou  must  believe — thou  hast  my  heart." 

"  I've  let  thee  to  my  embraces,"  she  spoke  incohe- 
rently ;  "  thy  lip  hath  pressed  my  own — thou  hast  lain 
close  to  this  heart,  till  thou  hast  known  all  its  beatings — 
and  I  let  thee  to  all  this  because  I  thought  thou  lovedst 
me." 

Amri  could  not  forbear  a  sarcasm,  or  something  that 
sounded  to  her  ears  like  one. 

"  But  others  fared  as  well,  Urraca.     Edacer — " 

"  No  !"  she  exclaimed,  almost  fiercely,  and  the  words 
of  Amri  seemed  once  more  to  arouse  her  fury  in  all  its 
strength — "  they  bought  my  embraces  with  gold.  But 
thou  hadst  more.  I  thought  I  had  thy  love,  and,  think- 
ing so,  I  swear  I  gave  thee  mine.  I  joyed  in  thy  em- 
brace— theirs  I  but  suffered.  But  no  more  of  this.  I 
feel  thou  lovest  me  not.  Away !" 

The  tears  now  flowed  freely  from  her  eyes,  and  she 
sank  back  upon  the  cushions  exhausted.  He  leaned  over 
her,  and  employed  those  arts  of  soothing  which  he  had 
previously  practised  with  no  little  success,  but  which  he 
had  quite  too  much  neglected  of  late,  not  properly  to 
create  in  her  bosom  a  doubt  of  his  continued  regard. 
He  bent  over  her,  and — first  symptom  of  returning  re- 
gard— she  submitted  for  a  moment  to  his  attentions. 
But  for  a  moment,  however.  She  started  in  another  in- 
stant from  his  contact — she  thrust  him  from  her  with  all 
her  strength,  and  the  sternest  expression  of  her  scorn. 

"Take  thy  hands  from  my  neck !"  she  cried,  almost 
fiercely.  "  Thy  embrace  is  like  that  of  the  serpent ;  it 
is  to  deceive  and  sting." 

"•Urraca  !" 

"  Ay,  Amri,  it  is  spoken — it  is  true.  Why  should 
I — a  Gothic  lady — erring,  but  desired — sought  by  the 
proudest, — honoured,  too,  in  spite  of  mine  own  life  of 
dishonour, — why  should  I  care  for  thee  ?" 

"  For  my  love,  Urraca." 

"  Ay — but  for  that — for  nothing  else,  I  swear.     And 


PELAYO.  193 

wherefore  should  I  value  that  from  thee,  but  that  I  was 
destitute  of  all  love  ?  The  nobles  seeking  me  brought 
wealth  ;  but  none  brought  love.  My  poverty  in  that, 
and  not  thy  worth,  made  me  to  seek  thy  love  as  some- 
thing worthy ;  and  thus  I  learned  to  love  thee  in  return. 
Why  should  I  else  have  suffered  thee,  thou  so  degraded 
in  thy  sect, — so  much  the  slave  even  of  the  vile  asso- 
ciates that  thou  bringest  me  here  ?" 

"  Art  thou  now  done,  Urraca  1     Wilt  thou  hear  me  V9 

"  Take  off  thy  hands  from  my  neck !"  He  obeyed 
her  quietly,  as  he  asked — 

" May  I  speak  to  thee  in  answer]" 

"  Speak  on,  I  hear  thee, — but  bend  not  over  me." 

"I've  loved  thee  but  too  well,  Urraca.  I  have  for- 
feited much  for  thee  : — the  friendship  of  my  people, — 
the  affection  of  my  father, — his  esteem.  Does  the  Jew 
love  gold  beyond  life  ? — I've  brought  thee  gold.  Had 
I  aught  by  which  to  show  thee  that  I  loved  thee  ? — I 
brought  thee  all.  Shall  it  be  strange  to  thee  that,  when 
I  beheld  others  winning  thy  favour  by  such  gifts,  I 
should  bring  thee  like  gifts  to  win  like  favour  too? 
'Twere  strange  if  I  had  not  done  so." 

"Accursed  be  thy  gifts! — thy  gold! — thy  jewels! 
I  ask  them  not.  It  was  not  gold  from  thee  that  I  de- 
sired !" 

'*  They  were  but  gifts  of  my  heart.  I  gave  thee 
love." 

"  Thou  sayest  it." 

"  I  mean  it  But,  when  I  suffered  in  the  displeasure 
of  my  father, — the  outcast  from  his  favour, — could  I  be 
fond,  Urraca  1  Could  I  come  to  thee,  and  look  happy, 
and  be  devoted,  an  exile  from  the  heart  and  the  home 
of  my  sire  ?" 

"  Thou  didst  not  tell  me  that.     I  knew  not  this." 

"  No,  I  did  not  deem  it  well  to  vex  thee  with  my  sor- 
rows, and — " 

Edacer  came  to  the  door  at  this  moment,  and  de- 

Vot.  L— R 


194  PELAYO. 

manded  admission.     When  he  entered  he  called  Amri 
aside. 

"  Mahlon  awaits  thee, — he  has  tidings  for  thee, — 
something,  I  deem,  of  Melchior — though  he  speaks 
not." 


XXII. 

AMRI  descended  at  once  to  meet  the  spy. 

"Well — hast  thou  seen  aught,  Mahlon  1"  he  asked 
of  the  slave. 

"  They  have  gone  forth,  Amri — the  old  man  and  the 
page." 

"  Ha !  on  what  course  ?" 

"  The  old  man  to  the  house  of  the  Father  Samuel/* 

"And — the  boy?" 

"  Him  I  followed  close,  even  to  the  Gate  of  the  Trib- 
une— " 

"  And  there — " 

"My  comrade  Barzai  still  watches  him  there.  He 
saunters  by  the  gate." 

"  'Tis  well, — thou  shalt  wait  here  to  guide  my  steps. 
I'll  be  with  thee  again  immediately." 

He  returned  to  the  chamber  where  sat  Edacer  and 
Urraca. 

"  I  must  leave  thee,"  were  his  brief  words.  "  Par- 
don me,  Lady  Urraca,  that  I  fly  from  thee  so  soon, — but 
the  Lord  Edacer  will  answer  for  me  that  I  go  on  a 
most  serious  business." 

"  What  business  is't,  Edacer?"  demanded  Urraca. 

«« Is't  of  Melchior  ? — nearest  thou  aught  of  him  ?" 
was  the  inquiry  which  Edacer  proposed  to  Amri,  as 
they  stood  apart. 

"  It  is — Mahlon  has  tracked  the  page  that  waits  on 
him.  I  must  pursue  and  follow  up  the  track.  Bid  thy 
two  followers  with  me,  Lord  Edacer.  They  wear  thy 


PELAYO.  195 

badge, — none  will  dispute  their  progress, — and  we  shall 
get  the  page  in  custody.  The  game  is  then  our  own." 

"  Sayest  thou  ?  It  shall  be  so.  Go  you  below  and 
tutor  them  a  while.  I'll  speak  to  Urraca.  She  shall  be 
satisfied."  « 

They  turned  to  the  lady,  and  her  glance  was  fixed 
upon  the  countenance  of  Amri. 

"  Must  he  go  ?  And  is  it  thy  business,  Edacer  V9 
she  demanded. 

"  It  is,  fair  lady, — give  him  thy  leave  of  absence. 
The  toil  is  heavy, — 'tis  for  me  he  toils — but  he  will 
soon  return  to  thee." 

"  Amri,"  she  simply  spoke  his  name.  He  approach- 
ed her.  She  whispered  him, 

"  I  will  not  take  thy  jewels.  It  would  seem  as  if  I 
sold  to  thee  my  love  for  them.  Had  I  believed  thee 
true,  I  would  have  worn  them  in  pride  and  pleasure, — 
still  misdoubting  thee,  I  cannot  take  them.  Give 
them  elsewhere.  I  will  not  chide  that  thou  shouldst 
thus  requite  some  other  for  the  love  she  gives  to  thee/ 
My  love  thou  buyest  with  love — or  not  at  all !  Give 
them  to  her !" 

"  There  is  no  other,  dearest  Urraca." 

"  Well,  as  thou  sayest  it.  Thou  art  free  to  go. 
But  take  the  jewels  hence." 


XXIII. 

WHEN  Amri  had  left  the  apartment,  Edacer  resumed 
his  seat  beside  Urraca ;  and  though  he  saw  that  her 
feelings  were  yet  excited  and  her  spirit  greatly  aroused, 
he  did  not  scruple  to  ask  an  explanation  of  the  scene 
which  he  had  partially  witnessed. 

"  What  is  there  in  these  jewels,  Urraca  ?  Is  there 
some  spell  of  danger  that  made  thee  fear  them  ?  Why 
didst  thou  refuse  them  1" 


FELAYO, 

"There  was  a  spell,  there  was  a  danger  in  them, 
Edacer.  Thou  hast  said  it.  But  thou  hast  no  fears 
such  as  minev  The  spell  will  not  harm  thee.  Do  thou 
take  them.  There — they  lie  beside  thee !" 

"  What !  wilt  thou  not  wear  them  1"  he  asked,  in 
no  little  astonishment. 

"  Never!  as  I  live.     Take  them, — they  are  thine." 

"  What  is't  with  thee  and  Amrir 

"  I'll  tell  thee  some  time  hence ;  but  answer  me, 
what  is  this  business  of  thine  upon  which  he  goes  ?  Is 
it  some  coil  of  state,  or  some  fool  affray, — or  goes 
he  but  to  get  moneys  for  thy  pleasures  ?  May  I  not 
hear  it?" 

"I  cannot  tell  thee  yet, — but  thou  wilt  hear  it  if  he 
prospers  in  it.  Let  it  suffice,  then,  that  'tis  something 
as  thou  sayest, — thou  almost  hittest  it" 

"  How  ?— what  1 — speak  on." 

"  'Tis  business  of  the  state  he  goes  upon." 

"  Psha  !  thou  dost  mock, — thou  mockest  either  him 
or  me.  He  is  a  Hebrew !  what  has  he  to  do  with 
the  state,  or  the  state  with  him,  unless  to  rob  him  V 

"  I  mock  thee  not — 'tis  strange,  but  true.  On  the 
state's  business  goes  he." 

"  In  what  form  1" 

"  He  aims  to  trap  a  secret  enemy,  and  leads  two  fol- 
lowers of  mine  for  that  object." 

"  An  enemy — ah ! — who — what  enemy  ?" 

"  A  page — he  has  a  secret  we  would  ^ain — a  glo- 
rious secret,  Urraca,  which  promises  us  a  goodly  sum 
of  gold  if  we  can  win  it.  Let  him  but  take  the  page, 
and  force  him  to  disgorge,  and  we  are  made." 

"  Well,  it  is  strange — a  page !" 

Urraca  seemed  to  muse,  and  a  sudden  change  passed 
visibly  over  her  features  as  she  uttered  the  exclamation. 
They  seemed  full  of  strange  conjecture  and  intelli- 
gence : 

"  A  page,  didst  thou  say,  Edacer  2" 


PELAYO.  197 

The  Goth  answered  her  with  some  little  surprise— - 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure, — a  page — a  boy — a  brat — a  little, 
long-legged,  bashful  thing — an  urchin,  sixteen  years  or 
so — not  more." 

"  Intrusted  with  a  secret  of  the  state  !  Why,  this  is 
madness,  if  't  be  true, — rank  folly  !" 

«  Why  ? — how,  Urraca  V 

"There's  more  in  this,  Edacer,  than  thou  tellest  me." 

**  No — as  I  live — no  more — save  in  the  secret,  which 
now  I  cannot  tell  thee." 

"  But  this  page, — it  cannot  be  a  page  that  has  this 
secret." 

"  He  said  a  page, — I  know  not." 

"  And  lacks  he  strength  to  take  a  page  ?  Wherefore 
thy  followers  ?" 

"  The  boy  may  struggle — " 

"  I've  been  a  page  myself!"  she  exclaimed,  inter- 
rupting him  suddenly,  though  still  without  seeming  to 
address  him.  "  I'll  be  once  more.  Hear  me,  Eda- 
cer." 

She  beckoned  him  with  her  finger. 

"  It  will  nothing  affect  thy  secret  if  I  go  and  see  this 
page.  I'll  go  as  one  of  thy  followers, — wearing  thy 
badge — " 

«  But—" 

"Nay, — thou  canst  nothing  plead  in  opposition. 
Thou  canst  trust  me  not  less  than  they.  I'll  go  as  one 
of  them." 

"  But  the  disguise — " 

"  Is  ready — all.  I  should  not  have  my  freedom,  but 
that  I  can  wear  all  shapes  that  take  my  choice.  I  have 
a  garb  will  suit  me." 

«« And  thou  wilt — " 

"  Follow  in  Amri's  steps  as  one  of  thine.     Hear  me : 
I  do  suspect  him  that  he  pursues  another  with  the  love 
which  he  has  promised  me." 
R  2 


198  PELAYO. 

"  And  what  carest  thou,  Urraca,  for  his  love  ?  What 
is  his  love  to  thee  ?" 

«« Nothing — if  love  be  only  valued  by  the  worth  of 
him  who  gives  it.  Every  tiling — if  she  who  claims  it 
is  in  want  of  it — if  she  has  none  beside." 

"  But  this  is  not  thy  state,  Urraca." 

"  It  is  ! — it  is !"  she  exclaimed,  mournfully,  with  a 
degree  of  feeling,  which,  before  this,  her  own  sense  had 
never  permitted  her  to  expose  to  one  so  callous  and 
coarse  as  Edacer. 

"  But,  whether  it  is  or  not,"  she  continued,  "  is  noth- 
ing now.  Go — teach  thy  followers  to  receive  me  as 
one  of  them.  Get  me  a  spear.  Be  sudden,  and  say 
nothing." 

Edacer  did  as  she  required;  and  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore Urraca,  habited  like  a  follower  of  the  Gothic  lord, 
proceeded,  with  another,  after  the  direction  and  the  lead 
of  Amri,  who  was  also  disguised  almost  beyond  de- 
tection. 


XXIV. 

AT  the  Tribune's  Gate,  according  to  appointment, 
Pelayo,  meanwhile,  had  met  with  many  of  the  nobles 
of  his  party, — Goths  and  natives  alike.  The  place 
was  a  thoroughfare  ;  but  Pelayo  had  designated  it  for 
the  purposes  of  meeting,  as  he  well  knew  that  no  priva- 
cy was  so  secret  as  that  of  the  crowd,  and  no  assem- 
blage so  little  liable  to  suspicion.  The  plot  was  ripen- 
ing fast.  The  money  of  the  Hebrew  had  procured  both 
arms  and  men,  and  every  circumstance  persuaded  Pe- 
layo the  more  to  a  rapid  concentration  of  all  his  plans 
for  the  approaching  moment  of  revolution.  He  knew 
the  danger  of  a  secret  intrusted  to  so  many,  when  the 
various  parties  were  not  kept  frequently  together.  He 
knew  the  necessity  of  excitement — the  excitement  of 


PELAYO.  199 

continued  strife — to  keep  the  mixed  multitude  as  one. 
More  than  this,  alarming  intelligence  had  reached  him 
of  the  suspicions  of  Don  Roderick,  the  usurper,  with 
regard  to  the  conspiracy,  and  he  had  just  received  a 
missive  from  the  Archbishop  Oppas,  advising  him  that 
he  had  been  summoned  by  Roderick  to  attend  a  general 
council  of  the  nation  at  the  royal  city  of  Toledo. 
Other  accounts  informed  him  that  Count  Julian  had 
been  ordered  suddenly  to  proceed  to  his  command  at 
Ceuta,  in  order  to  oppose  an  unlooked-for  irruption  of 
the  Moors.  This  movement  would  necessarily  employ 
the  army  of  Roderick  in  a  remote  quarter,  leaving  free 
room  and  a  fine  opportunity  for  the  success  of  a  sudden 
and  strong  blow,  struck  in  the  chief  cities,  by  a  sim- 
ultaneous movement  of  the  conspirators ;  who,  mean- 
while, had  been  briskly  engaged  in  bringing  their  follow- 
ers together,  and,  by  means  of  the  gold  which  they  had 
freely  distributed,  had  secured  converts  everywhere  to 
their  cause.  All  the  arguments  spoke  for  the  propriety 
of  an  early  effort,  and  the  conspirators  separated,  leav- 
ing the  Prince  Pelayo,  who  remained  in  waiting  for  an- 
other agent  of  his  cause.  Nor  did  he  wait  long  after 
their  departure.  The  page  of  Melchior,  true,  and  vigi- 
lant as  true,  approached  him  as  soon  as  they  were  out 
of  sight.  Pelayo  received  his  packet,  and  pressed  the 
boy's  hand  while  he  took  it. 

"  Thou  art  a  noble  servant  to  thy  father,  Lamech, — 
thou  art  a  page  among  a  thousand  ; — would  that  thou 
wert  mine,  Lamech.  Wouldst  thou  be  faithful  to  me, 
as  thou  art  to  him  ?" 

"  Faithful — faithful  to  thee,  my  lord  ?"  was  the  stam- 
mering response  of  the  messenger. 

"Ay,  faithful,  Lamech.  But  I  know  thou  wouldst. 
Thou  wouldst  love  me  as  truly  as  thou  lovest  thy  father, 
if  thy  lips  would  promise  it." 

"  Love  thee,  my  lord — " 

"Ay,  love  me,  Lamech.     I  love  thee,  boy,  though 


200  PELAYO. 

thou  art  not  of  my  kin,  and  of  another  and  a  hated  blood. 
Thou  hast  grown  upon  my  love  from  thy  good  service 
and  thy  fidelity,  and  thy  clear,  true  love  for  thy  father." 

The  tears  stole  into  the  eyes  of  the  page,  but  no  word 
was  uttered.  Pelayo  spoke  to  him  of  other  topics. 

"  Tell  thy  father  that  thou  hast  seen  me, — that  the 
Lord  Eudon  has  already  brought  his  men  together, — that 
the  arms  have  been  delivered  to  Aylor  by  the  Hebrew 
warrior  Abimelech,  who  has  mustered  a  goodly  troop 
along  the  Pass  of  Wallia.  Say  yet  more,  and  forget  not 
this,  Lamech,  that  we  hold  to  our  purpose  of  assemblage 
at  the  Cave  of  Wamba.  Melchior  must  be  there,  to 
speak  after  his  own  fashion  to  the  Jews  who  will  gather 
with  us.  His  words  are  much  to  them.  Hast  thou 
heard  me,  Lamech  1" 

"  I  have,  my  lord." 

"  Thou  wilt  remember  all  that  I  have  said  to  thee,  so 
that  Melchior  will  hear  it  as  from  my  own  lips  ?" 

"  He  shall  hear  all,  my  lord." 

"  Then  thou  must  go  now,  Lamech.  The  night 
grows,  and  thou  hast  a  long  path  before  thee.  But  thou 
fearest  nothing,  Lamech  V* 

"  Nothing,  my  lord." 

"  Would  thou  wert  son  of  mine,  Lamech,  Jew  though 
thou  art.  Would  thou  wert  son  of  mine.  But  go  thy 
ways, — give  me  thy  hand — " 

The  soft  fingers  trembled  in  the  gentle  grasp  of  the 
warrior — 

"  Go  thy  ways,  and  hurry  fast  to  thy  dwelling.  These 
hands  are  not  formed  for  strife,  and  would  little  avail  thee 
if  lifted  against  an  enemy.  Good-night,  boy." 

She  faltered  forth  a  good-night  in  return,  and  her  heart 
died  away  in  a  sweet  sadness  within  her  rapidly-heaving 
bosom,  as  she  turned  from  him  to  pursue  her  homeward 
progress. 


PELAYO.  2Q1 


XXV. 

«*  STAND  by,  and  when  I  speak — "  were  the  words  of 
Amri  to  his  followers. 

"  Stay — he  comes  !  Be  ready  with  thy  aid  when  I 
shall  call  thee." 

The  three  took  shelter  in  the  shadow  of  a  jutting 
wall,  awaiting  the  approach  of  the  page.  Unconscious 
of  danger,  and  with  thoughts  rather  too  full  of  the  image 
of  Pelayo  to  think  of  herself,  Thyrza  moved  slowly  along 
beside  the  wall.  On  a  sudden  the  arms  of  Amri  were 
thrown  around  her.  She  shrieked  aloud  in  the  extrem- 
ity of  her  terror. 

"A  woman's  voice — I  knew  it,"  was  the  half-muttered 
exclamation  of  Urraca,  as  she  came  forward  with  her 
companion. 

"  Give  me  thy  cloak  !"  was  the  hurried  demand  of 
Amri ;  "  thy  handkerchief, — help  me  to  bind  his  mouth." 

The  shrieks  of  the  captive  maiden  in  the  meanwhile 
rang  through  the  otherwise  silent  streets.  The  tread  of 
a  heavy  and  hurrying  footstep  was  heard  approaching 
them. 

"  Hasten  !"  cried  Amri, — "  there  !" 

The  maiden  struggled,  and  strove  vainly  to  cry  aloud. 
Her  mouth  was  now  effectually  bandaged.  But  she 
struggled  still;  and  Amri,  hearing  the  approaching  foot- 
steps, bade  the- followers  of  Edacer  stand  between  them 
while  he  bore  off  the  captive.  One  of  them  did  so,  but 
the  new-comer  thrust  aside  the  presented  spear,  with 
a  single  stroke  from  a  heavy  mace  which  he  bore,  with 
the  ease  of  a  giant  Urraca  had  prudently  darted  aside 
without  offering  opposition.  Before  the  foiled  spears- 
man  could  recover,  Pelayo — for  it  was  he — had  ap- 
proached the  seizer  of  the  maiden,  who  continued  to 
struggle  desperately  in  his  grasp. 


202  PELAYO. 

"  What  ho !"  cried  Amri ;  "  approach  not,  whoever 
thou  art, — we  serve  the  Lord  Edacer.  Behold  his 
badge." 

"  Be  paid  for  thy  service,  whomsoever  thou  callest 
thy  master,"  cried  the  impetuous  prince,  for  he  had  rec- 
ognised the  voice  of  the  page  Lamech  at  the  first  alarm — 
"  thou  hast  claim  for  such  pay :"  and,  as  he  spoke,  with 
one  blow  of  his  heavy  mace,  he  smote  the  treacherous 
Hebrew  to  the  earth.  Thyrza  fell  with  him,  as  he  still 
retained  her  in  his  grasp,  but  she  was  unhurt.  The 
baffled  spearsman,  having  recovered  from  the  impetuos- 
ity of  the  first  attack,  now  rushed  upon  the  prince  ;  but 
his  thrust  was  unavailing,  in  opposition  to  one  possessed 
of  the  great  skill  and  power  of  Pelayo.  The  spear  of 
the  soldier  was  shivered  in  his  hands  by  a  single  blow 
of  the  mace,  and  he  must  in  another  instant  have  fared 
like  Amri,  but  that  he  prudently  gave  back,  and  left  the 
path  of  the  victor  unobstructed.  Pelayo  paused  not  an 
instant  to  complete  the  rescue  which  he  had  so  manfully 
begun.  He  lifted  the  only  half-animated  form  of  Thyr- 
za in  his  arms,  tore  the  handkerchief  away  with  which 
Amri  had  bandaged  her  mouth,  and  with  as  much  ease 
as  if  she  had  been  an  infant,  he  hurried  off  from  the 
scene  of  the  affray  without  any  farther  interruption  from 
the  soldier.  The  heavy  mace  being  still  vigorously 
brandished  by  its  owner,  with  an  ease  and  adroitness 
which  warned  him  of  the  utter  hopelessness  and  impru- 
dence of  any  second  effort  in  a  conflict  with  one  so  su- 
perior to  himself  both  in  skill  and  prowess,  he  wisely 
refrained  from  offering  any  farther  resistance  to  his 
progress. 


PELAYO.  203 


XXVI. 

THE  sturdy  follower  of  Edacer,  mortified  at  his  de- 
feat, now  turned  upon  the  disguised  Urraca,  who,  by 
this  time,  was  busy  in  examining  the  hurts  of  her  Hebrew 
lover. 

"  Why  didst  thou  not  set  upon  him  from  behind  when 
thou  sawest  that  I  had  crossed  weapons  with  him  in 
front?  Thou  art — " 

Urraca  silenced  his  speech  by  addressing  him  in  her 
natural  tone  of  voice. 

"  Waste  not  the  moments  in  idle  words,  but  take 
him  up  in  thy  arms — gently  and  with  care — see  that 
thou  hurt  him  not,  as  thou  valuest  thy  good.  Bear  him 
along  with  me." 

He  did  as  she  commanded,  and,  unconscious  all  the 
while,  for  the  blow  of  Pelayo  had  completely  stunned 
him,  Amri  was  carried  by  the  soldier  to  the  dwelling  of 
Urraca. 

Meanwhile,  but  little  more  conscious  than  the  wound- 
ed Hebrew,  Thyrza  was  borne  by  the  vigorous  Pelayo, 
quickly,  and  in  silence,  through  the  now  deserted  streets. 
Once  or  twice  during  their  flight  she  made  a  feeble 
effort  to  resume  her  feet,  but  he  gently  bade  her  desist; 
and  her  head,  half  in  stupor  and  half  in  consciousness, 
sank  at  length  upon  his  shoulders,  while  the  tears  of  an 
aroused  apprehension  and  deeply-excited  sensibilities 
poured  unrestrainedly  forth  from  the  clear  fountains  of 
her  lovely  eyes. 


204  PELAYO. 


XXVII. 

IN  the  quiet  chambers  of  the  lowly  dwelling  in  which 
Pelayo  found  temporary  security,  he  at  length  arrived 
with  his  precious  burden.  He  laid  her  down  upon  his 
own  humble  couch,  and  watched  her,  as  slowly  she  re- 
covered her  consciousness.  She  started  up  as  she  be- 
held the  earnestness  of  his  gaze — a  deep  blush  over- 
spread her  cheek,  and  with  averted  eyes  she  rose  from 
the  couch,  and  was  about  to  move  away  from  the  apart- 
ment, though  evidently  without  any  distinct  purpose  in 
her  mind,  when  Pelayo  restrained  her. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  she  demanded.  "  My  father — prince 
— I  must  go  now — I  must  go  to  my  father." 

These  were  the  hurried  and  brief  words  which  fell 
from  her  lips  when  she  came  to  a  full  consciousness  of 
her  situation.  She  looked  round  upon  the  bare  walls 
of  the  mean  and  cheerless  apartment  as  she  spoke,  and 
wondered  where  she  found  herself.  Could  so  base  a 
dwelling  be  the  place  of  safety  and  retreat  of  one  so  no- 
ble, and  so  highly-born  and  nurtured,  as  Pelayo  ?  The 
dwelling  of  the  persecuted  Hebrew  was  superior.  It  was 
usually  proudly  furnished,  though  the  exterior  was  low 
and  uninviting.  She  was  confused  by  her  thoughts, 
which  yet  dwelt  earnestly  on  the  objects  around  her. 

"Be  no  longer  apprehensive,  Lamech,"  said  Pelayo, 
soothingly,  as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  maid- 
en, and  gently  restrained  her  movement.  "  Be  no 
longer  apprehensive.  There  is  now  no  danger.  You 
are  here  safe  with  me,  and  the  villains  who  had  seized 
upon  you  have  forborne  to  pursue  us." 

But  the  maiden  trembled  more  than  ever,  even  after 
his  assurances.  The  slight  pressure  of  his  hand  upon 
her  arm  had  been  electrical  in  its  consequences.  A 
thrill  of  flame  seemed  to  rush  at  that  moment  through 


PELAYO.  205 

all  her  veins,  and,  as  his  dark  and  searching  eye  was 
riveted  upon  her  face,  her  cheek  glowed  with  all  the  in- 
tensity of  fire.  Yet,  as  he  still  addressed  her  by  the 
name  of  Lamech,  she  was  happy  to  believe  that  her  se- 
cret— the  secret  of  her  sex — was  yet  safe  hidden  from 
his  knowledge.  That  belief  restored  her.  She  felt  how 
dreadful  it  would  be  if  Pelayo  should  know  the  truth. 
But,  though  something  strengthened  with  this  conviction, 
she  did  not  readily  trust  her  lips  to  reply.  She  felt  that 
she  must  falter  in  her  speech.  Her  heart  was  full,  and 
she  trembled  with  the  rush  of  its  tumultuous  and  con- 
flicting feelings.  He  beheld  her  emotion,  and  ascribed 
it  to  any  but  the  proper  cause. 

"  Fear  nothing,  Lamech.  The  danger  is  now  over. 
Thou  art  yet  but  a  child.  I  warned  thee  that  thou  didst 
too  greatly  overtask  thy  strength ;  and,  though  I  would 
not  pain  thee,  boy,  by  such  a  thought,  yet  I  very  much 
fear  thou  dost  overrate  thy  courage.  Thou  wert  not 
made  for  strife,' — thy  nation  is  enfeebled  by  its  petty  toils, 
and  hath  been  too  long  restrained  from  all  free  and  no- 
ble exercises.  They  know  not,  and  thou  hast  not  often 
shared  in,  warlike  arts,  though  thou  sayest  that  thou  hast 
dwelt  in  a  land,  and  moved  among  the  incidents  of  a 
time  of  peril.  Thou  hast  not  the  soul  for  strife ;  and,  if 
thy  father  will  heed  my  counsel,  he  will  keep  thee  in  a 
quiet  spot,  and  afar  from  his  own  toils,  which  are  full  of 
danger.  After  this  night,  Lamech,  thou  wilt  seek  me 
out  no  more.  I  will  not  suffer  thee  to  harm  thyself  by 
exposure  of  thy  youth  to  such  rude  assaults  as  that  to 
which  thou  hast  been  subjected,  and  to  which  neither  thy 
heart  nor  thy  strength  is  equal.  After  this  night  thou 
shalt  forego  these  labours." 

"  But — I  must  return  now,  Prince  Pelayo,  to  my  fa- 
ther. Let  me  go,  my  prince,  since  there  is  no  more 
danger.  Let  me  return,  I  pray  thee." 

"  There  is  no  danger  here,  Lamech — but  there  is 
danger  in  the  paths  of  the  city.  There  were  cries  of 

VOL.  I.— 8 


206  PELAYO. 

alarm  even  as  I  fled  with  thee  upon  my  shoulders,  and 
the  soldiers  of  the  governor  parade  all  the  public  pas- 
sages." 

The  answer  of  Pelayo  seemed  only  to  inspire  her 
with  a  new  resolution  and  strength.  She  rose  in  spite 
of  his  restraints,  though  he  still  stood  in  the  way  of  her 
progress. 

"  I  must  go,  my  prince.  There  is  no  danger  to  me 
I  can  pass  through  the  passages  unseen." 

"  This  was  thy  thought,  Lamech,  when  leaving  me 
at  the  Gate  of  the  Tribune,— and  the  thought  is  idle, 
Lamech,  and  thou  wert  rash  and  wrong  then  to  go,  and 
I  were  not  less  rash  and  wrong  to  suffer  it.  Thou  shall 
not  go — " 

"  My  father — my  father — prince  ;  I  must  fly  to  him. 
He  will  sorrow  after  me  as  if  I  had  come  to  some 
dreadful  evil." 

"  And  better  that  he  should  sorrow  thus,  without  rea- 
son, than  that  thou  shouldst  go  forth  to  danger  and  give 
him  good  occasion  for  such  sorrows." 

"I  must  go,  my  prince,"  she  said,  doggedly ;  "I  dare 
not  remain  longer." 

"  Go  to,  boy — am  I  a  child,  that  thou  shouldst  lesson 
me  after  this  fashion  ?  Thou  shalt  not  go  !  I  am  re- 
solved thou  shalt  not !  I  were  no  friend  to  thy  father, 
and  still  less  a  friend  to  thee,  if  I  suffered  thee  to  go 
forth  at  this  hour,  when  the  slaves  and  soldiers  of  the 
tyrant  traverse  all  the  paths  of  the  city." 

She  wrung  her  hands,  and  sank  upon  her  knee,  im- 
ploring permission  to  depart.  Pelayo  frowned  heavily 
upon  the  seeming  boy  as  he  looked  upon  this  weakness. 

"  Go  to,  boy  ;  —  though  I  had  deemed  thee  to  be 
weak,  I  had  not  thought  thee  wilful.  What  dost  thou 
fear  with  me?  What  hast  thou  to  fear?  This  appre- 
hension shows  basely  in  thee,  even  beyond  the  reproach 
which  speaks  of  the  cowardice  of  thy  people.  I  held 
thee  better  taught.  I  looked  upon  thee  as  one  possessed 


PELAYO.  207 

of  more  courage  and  heart  than  thy  present  wilfulness 
approves  to  be  in  thee." 

How  had  he  mistaken  her !  It  was  only  because  of 
her  possessing  so  much  heart  and  courage  that  she  ex- 
hibited so  much  seeming  weakness.  But  of  this  Pelayo 
dreamed  not.  He  continued — 

"  Thou  shalt  not  leave  me  till  dawning,  Lamech. 
Thou  art  safe  with  me." 

She  almost  shrieked  aloud,  as  she  cried  out  in  her 
terror — 

"  But  I  must,  my  lord,  although  I  perish  for  it ! 
Alas!  alas !  my  father, — I  must  go  to  him  at  once,  my 
lord." 

"  Why  this  is  wilful  madness,  boy.  What  dost  thou 
mean  ?  — am  I  thine  enemy  ?" 

"  Oh,  no — no  !  But  I  must  go,  my  prince.  Upon 
my  knees  I  pray  thee,  let  me  go !  I  will  risk  all  the 
danger — all,  all — and  will  not  deem  it  such.  Let  me 
but  go.  There  is  no  danger — " 

"There  is  danger,  Lamech — great  danger, — and  I 
will  not  suffer  thee  to  depart  till  early  dawning.  Then 
thou  mayst  go  to  thy  father,  not  before." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  while  she  entreated 
him,  but  he  remained  inflexible  ;  and,  though  evidently 
chafed  by  what  he  deemed  the  perverse  weakness  of  the 
boy,  he  yet  spoke  him  kindly  while  denying  him  his 
prayer. 

"  No,  Lamech — thou  shalt  stay  with  me  this  night, — 
thou  shalt  share  with  me  my  couch,  and  I  will  protect 
thee  from  every  harm  until  the  morning,  when  thou  shalt 
go  home  to  Melchior." 

"  Kill  me  rather,  my  lord,"  she  cried  aloud,  in  seem- 
ing desperation.  "  Kill  me  rather,  or  let  me  go  this  night 
to  my  father." 

"  Thou  art  but  a  foolish  boy  Lamech,  and  sinfully 
wilful,  when  I  but  deemed  thee  childishly  weak.  I  am 
no  boy  like  tbee,  and  thou  hast  much  mistaken  me  if 


208  PBLAYO. 

thou  thinkest  I  will  let  thee  go  forth  at  this  mad  hour  of 
the  night.  I  have  said,  and  thou  pleadest  and  prayest 
vainly !  I  am  resolute.  Here  shalt  thou  keep  till  morn- 
ing— here,  in  this  chamber.  Thou  dost  not  fear  to 
sleep  with  me — with  thy  prince,  Lamech  1" 

Her  head  was  prone  to  the  ground,  and  she  replied 
not.  He  stooped  to  lift  her  from  his  feet.  His  arm  en- 
circled her  slender  waist — but  she  clung  to  the  ground 
as  if  she  sought  for  it  to  conceal  and  cover  her. 

*4What  means  this  strange  passion,  Lamech?"  he 
cried,  as  with  a  strong  arm  he  lifted  her  to  her  feet.  She 
averted  her  head,  and  wept  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears ; — 
then  desperately  seeking  release  from  his  firm  hold,  she 
cried — 

"Thou  art  a  Christian,  my  prince, — it  will  shame 
thee  that  one  of  my  race  should  linger  long  in  thy 
dwelling." 

"  I  heed  not  of  thy  race,  Lamech.  Thou  art  a  sweet 
and  a  good  youth ;  though  this  night  thou  hast  erred 
grievously  in  the  weakness  which  thou  hast  shown  to 
me,  and  in  the  wilfulness  to  which  thou  still  keepest  most 
strangely." 

"  Pardon  me,  oh  gracious  prince — pardon  me,  I  pray 
thee,  that  I  have  so  offended,  but  let  me  depart  from  thee 
at  once  to  my  father.  I  will  not  again  offend  thee.  I 
will  pray  for  thee  to  the  God  of  Israel.  I  will — " 

"  When  thou  knowest  me  better,  Lamech,"  said  Pe- 
layo,  sternly,  "thou  wilt  know  that  I  trifle  not  with  my 
resolves.  I  have  declared  that,  as  it  would  be  danger, 
and  may  be  death,  for  thee  to  go  forth  this  night,  thou 
shalt  here  remain  and  partake  of  my  couch  with  me — " 

"  My  lord,  I  cannot — I  dare  not — I  will  not !  I  must 
go,  though  I  perish." 

"  Thou  shalt  not,  Lamech." 

"  Hear  me,  my  prince — I  am  not  the  son  of  Mel- 
chior." 

He  released  her  from  his  grasp  as  she  spoke  these 


PELAYO.  209 

words.  Her  eyes  were  uplifted  for  an  instant;  and,  as 
they  encountered  the  intense  gaze  of  his,  she  sank  again 
upon  her  knees  before  him. 

"  Not  the  son  of  Melchior ! — who  art  thou  V  he  de- 
manded. 

"The  child  of  Melchior.  The  child,  but  not  the 
son,"  was  the  desperate  answer.  "Look! — behold,  my 
prince." 

And,  as  she  spoke,  undoing  a  nice  piece  of  network 
which  was  artfully  wound  in  with,  and  secured  her  hair, 
she  let  the  thick,  glossy,  and  beautiful  volume  fall  down 
upon  her  shoulders.  In  the  next  instant  she  herself  fell 
prostrate  along  the  floor,  and  her  long  tresses  swept  the 
dark  pavement  even  to  the  feet  of  Pelayo. 


XXVIII. 

HE  lifted  her  from  the  ground  in  spite  of  all  her  re- 
sistance, though  he  lifted  her  with  the  utmost  tenderness. 
He  bore  her  once  more  to  the  couch,  and  laid  her  ex- 
hausted form  upon  it. 

"  Thou  hast  done  rightly,  maiden,"  he  spoke,  after  a 
brief  interval  given  to  astonishment,  in  which  his  eyes 
perused  her  with  a  singular  interest — "  thou  hast  done 
rightly,  maiden,  whosoever  thou  art,  in  speaking  out  the 
truth.  Be  calm ! — be  not  doubtful  nor  afraid, — thou  art 
as  safe  from  harm  in  the  chamber  of  Pelayo,  as,  in  his 
heart,  he  beholds  thee  without  one  ungenerous  thought 
— one  dishonourable  feeling." 

"  Oh,  my  lord — I  thank  thee — I  thank  thee  !  From 
the  bottom  of  my  soul  I  thank  thee !  I  knew  that  thou 
wert  noble — forgive  me  that  I  did  not  confide  to  thee  at 
the  first" 

"  Better  as  thou  hast  done,  maiden.  Thy  secret  was 
no  less  thy  father's  than  thine,  and  if  he  confided  not  to 
S  2 


210  PELAYO. 

Pelayo,  it  was  not  for  thee  to  do  so.  But  give  me  to 
know  thy  name." 

She  fakered  out  the  word  in  a  trembling  emotion  that 
was  not  without  its  pleasure.  He  spoke  the  name  as  if 
musingly  to  himself. 

"  Thyrza !" — and,  thus  speaking  it,  he  paced  to  and 
fro  three  several  times  across  the  chamber  before  he 
again  addressed  her.  When  he  did  so,  his  thought  was 
one  of  manly  and  gentle,  yet,  with  him,  of  natural  con- 
sideration. 

"  And  for  me,  and  in  my  cause,  maiden,  thou  hast 
adventured  thy  young  and  tender  limbs — thy  life  and  thy 
honour,  at  midnight  and  in  strange  places — " 

"  I  feared  not,  my  prince, — it  was  my  father  bade  me, 
— and  I — I  knew  mat  I  was  serving  thee — serving  thee 
and  him." 

"  Thou  hast  served  nobly  and  well,  maiden — Thyrza, 
— but  thy  father  has  exposed  thee  to  toils  beyond  thy 
strength,  and  such  as  are  foreign  to  thy  gentle  sex — " 

"  I  have  had  neither  pain  nor  fatigue  in  their  perform- 
ance," she  cried,  interrupting  him. 

"But  a  dreadful  peril,  Thyrza.  Thinkest  thou  the 
villain  who  assailed  thee  knew  what  thou  wast  ?  Think- 
est thou  he  knew  of  thy  sex  1" 

"I  know  not,"  was  the  trembling  response,  as  the 
recollection  came  over  her  of  what  she  had  suffered  and 
might  have  suffered,  but  for  the  timely  assistance  of 
Pelayo. 

"  May  I  now  depart,  my  lord  ?"  was  the  timid  ad- 
dress of  the  maiden,  as  she  saw  that  he  was  engaged  in 
thought. 

He  did  not  seem  to  heed  for  a  moment.  More  ear- 
nestly and  anxiously  she  again  addressed  him — 

"  Have  I  my  lord's  permission  to  depart  now  ?" 

He  turned  to  her  instantly,  and  took  her  hand  within 
his.  She  strove  to  withdraw  it  from  his  grasp,  and,  as 
she  strove,  he  released  it,  and  then  she  feared  that  she 


PELA.YO.  211 

had  offended  him,  and,  unconsciously,  the  lately-with- 
drawn hand  was  extended  towards  him.  He  did  not 
seem  to  remark  upon  the  act,  though  he  resumed  its 
possession ;  and  he  spoke  thus  immediately  after — 

"  Thou  hast  hitherto  had  no  wrong,  Thyrza,  at  the 
hand  of  Pelayo.  Believe  me  when  I  tell  thee  thou  hast 
none  to  fear.  Confide  in  me — in  my  strength — not  Jess 
than  in  thine  own.  It  is  not  less,  believe  me,  than  thine. 
That  strength  is  thy  security.  If  it  can  protect  thee,  by 
the  strong  arm,  from  the  robber  of  the  night,  it  can  also, 
of  itself,  forbear  thy  injury.  I  must  be  this  night  thy 
keeper  and  guardian,  and  hold  the  place  of  thy  father. 
Thou  canst  not  go  hence  now.  It  were  madness, — 
and  I  could  not  go  with  thee  unless  into  the  very  den 
of  danger.  Here,  then — in  this  chamber — shall  thou 
sleep, — nay,  interrupt  me  not,  and  fear  not, — here  shalt 
thou  sleep,  and  sleep  securely,  even  from  any  danger  of 
my  intrusion.  I  have  another  chamber  in  the  court 
without.  Behold  this  bar, — when  I  am  gone,  and  thou 
hast  closed  the  door  behind  me,  thrust  it  into  these  cav- 
ities which  thou  seest  on  either  side  of  the  wall,  and  thou 
mayst  sleep  as  securely  as  if  thy  own  father  watched 
over  thee,  with  a  strength  boundless  as  his  love,  and  as 
sleepless.  Thou  wilt  be  as  safe  from  my  approach, 
Thyrza,  as  from  the  enemy  from  whose  brutal  outrage 
I  rescued  thee.  Sleep,  maiden,  without  fear.  I  leave 
thee,  with  God's  blessing  upon  thy  slumbers." 

He  waited  not  for  any  answer  which  she  could  make, 
but  at  once  hurried  out  of  the  apartment.  Long  did  her 
eyes  strain  after  his  departing  form,  and  sweetly  that 
night  did  she  think  and  dream  of  all  the  events  of  the 
evening.  Was  it  sinful  that,  in  her  sleep,  her  dreams 
brought  to  her  a  renewal  of  his  embrace,  and  that  she 
joyed  to  linger  in  the  folding  fondness  of  his  manly 
arms  ]  Was  it  sinful  that  she  sighed  at  morning  when 
she  awakened,  looking  round  upon  the  pillow,  to  feel 
that  she  had  but  dreamed  ?  Ah,  if  her  thoughts  and 


212  PELAYO. 

dreams  that  night  were  sinful,  what  heart  is  innocent? 
— What  maiden  is  without  a  blemish  ? 

Wrapping  his  mantle  around  him,  Pelayo  threw  him- 
self down  in  the  court  before  the  door  of  the  apartment 
which  he  had  given  up  to  Thyrza,  and  many  new 
thoughts  in  his  mind  kept  him  wakeful ;  and,  when  he 
slept,  many  strange,  sweet  fancies  made  him  sad  when 
the  night  was  so  soon  over,  and  when  the  bright  glances 
of  the  day  aroused  him. 


XXIX. 

IT  was  yet  early  morning  when  the  agonized  and 
greatly  apprehensive  Melchior  appeared  before  the 
prince,  in  the  court  where  the  latter  had  been  sleeping. 

"  Lamech — my  son?"  cried  the  venerable  and  anxious 
parent. 

"Thy  child  sleeps  yet,  Melchior, — she  is  in  the 
chamber  !"  was  the  calm  reply  of  Pelayo. 

"  She  ! — Ha  ! — Speak  to  me,  Prince  Pelayo — my 
child, — thou  knowest  her  sex — her  secret.  She  is  safe  ? 
— She  has  had  no  wrong  ?" 

"  She  is  as  thou  wouldst  have  her,  Melchior — a  pure 
and  virtuous  maiden.  But  go  in  to  her,  and  she  will  tell 
thee  all.  Let  her  hear  thy  voice  at  the  entrance,  that 
she  may  unbar  for  thee  the  fastenings.  I  will,  mean- 
while, look  round  upon  the  court,  that  we  may  not  be 
vexed  with  prying  glances." 

"  Thyrza !"  exclaimed  the  old  man  at  the  door,  after 
Pelayo  had  gone. 

"  My  father  !"  was  the  sweet  response  from  within. 
The  door  opened  in  the  next  instant,  and  fond  and  holy 
was  the  embrace  taken  between  the  doting  father  and 
his  dutiful  and  lovely  child.  She  told  him  all  her  adven- 
tures of  the  night — of  the  wrong  which  she  had  partially 
sustained,  and  from  the  dangers  of  which  Pelayo  had 


PELAYO.  213 

rescued  her,  and  of  the  forbearance  and  nobleness  of 
the  prince  in  all  which  had  taken  place  between  them. 
When  Pelayo  returned  to  the  court,  the  gratitude  of  the 
father  and  daughter  was  spoken  in  the  warmest  language 
of  acknowledgment  and  devotion,  though  it  remained 
unspoken  in  words. 


END   OF  BOOK  II.   AND  VOL.  I 


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